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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - Authors
Work rating: Low

OVER the meadows, and down the stream,

And through the garden-walks straying,
He plucks the flowers that fairest seem;

His throbbing heart brooks no delaying.
His maiden then comes—oh, what ecstasy!
Thy flowers thou giv`st for one glance of her eye!

The gard`ner next door o`er the hedge sees the youth:
"I`m not such a fool as that, in good truth;
My pleasure is ever to cherish each flower,
And see that no birds my fruit e`er devour.
But when `tis ripe, your money, good neighbour!
`Twas not for nothing I took all this labour!"
And such, methinks, are the author-tribe.

The one his pleasures around him strews,

That his friends, the public, may reap, if they choose;
The other would fain make them all subscribe.
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