The Flower By The Path

By Augusta Davies Webster

A FLOWER was growing alone,

Then alone and for ever alone:

Some one came by,

Saw the flower how fair it had grown,

Chose it, plucked it to die.

And what is a flower alone,

Then alone and for ever alone,

Come no one by?

Why should a flower be fair for its own?

Choose it, pluck it to die.