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.
William Herbert Carruth
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flower-and-song/
