I like to see the flowers grow, To see the pansies in a row; I think a well-kept garden's fine, And wish that such a one were mine; But one can't have a stock of flowers Unless he digs and digs for hours. My ground is always bleak and bare; The roses do not flourish there. And where I once sowed poppy seeds Is now a tangled mass of weeds. I'm fond of flowers, but admit, For digging I don't care a bit. I envy men whose yards are gay, But never work as hard as they; I also envy men who own More wealth than I have ever known. I'm like a lot of men who yearn For joys that they refuse to earn. You cannot have the joys of work And take the comfort of a shirk. I find the man I envy most Is he who's longest at his post. I could have gold and roses, too, If I would work like those who do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MENDOCINO MEMORY by EDWIN MARKHAM YOUNG BULLFROGS by CARL SANDBURG FISHERMAN IN SONGKHLA by KAREN SWENSON SONG OF NATURE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE MESSAGE, FR. THE FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE by THOMAS HEYWOOD SONG OF A SECOND APRIL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY |