Tenderflower

By a certain road sprouts a tender Flower
Thence implanted by Natures untrimmed cause.
Will it grow a fruiting Tree
Giving Proceeds in yearly spree
Or plucked by the ignorant hands
Of pruning Children plying the road
On cheerless erranderies; wither?

Or, neighboured by Thistles, thus it proves,
Choked by them to death?
Thus becoming an unreflective effect
Disproving the planter's Grace?

Or by the Sun chided to wither?
Or the Rain's pelting hands
Submerged to the other worlds
Or carried to unnative lands
Of inactivities?

Could this prove the farmer's goal
Whose toils are never vainfull;
Or give him great delight
Whose genius is never faulty?

Or who can bear to look at the sun
With his native eyes unstopped
Or bid the sky stop its sweatful toils
Or its bidder, be he less reckoned?

Or torrents of darkness at night
Would there be no bid for the day?
Or burning brightness by the day
Could there be sun at night?
Or its bidder be he less reckoned?

”O woeful day
Let me by this shade a rest borrow
Before I to my hut swipe
Aha! Sweetest sweetness in sweats of sorrow
The birds by this shade lures me sleep"

Thus has the erstwhile tender Flower grown
Giving shade to the tired and groaning
And shelter for the Birds that flown
For its Planter has never been sleeping