Poem by Augusta Webster

The Flower by the Path

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.

1. Joy That's Half Too Keen, and True
2. A Song of a Spring-Time
3. Deserted
4. Coming Home
5. Day Is Dead, and Let Us Sleep

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