To and fro they went
    Thro’ my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
    Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
    It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o’er the wall
    Stole the seed by night;

Sow’d it far and wide
    By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
    ‘Splendid is the flower.’

Read my little fable:
    He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now
    For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
    And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
    Call it but a weed.