I.

I dug a little flower
From out the forest-shade,
And set it in my garden
Where light and sunshine played.

I went to watch it daily,
I tended it with care,
And Said: 'With this no other
Shall ever dare compare.'

And yet it slowly withered
Beneath the cheerful sun,
And died there in my garden
Before a week was done.

II.

I took a little fancy
From out my tangled brain,
And set it to the music
Of an old-time, sweet refrain.

I decked in out in figures,
I nursed it with fine words,
And said: 'My little songlet
Shall be sung by all the birds.'

Its spirit waned and vanished
Beneath its wordy weight,
And it died with all its music,
And met the flower's fate.