| I like to see the flowers grow, To see the pansies in a row; I think a well-kept garden’s fine, And wish that such a one were mine; But one can’t have a stock of flowers Unless he digs and digs for hours. |
| My ground is always bleak and bare; The roses do not flourish there. And where I once sowed poppy seeds Is now a tangled mass of weeds.’ I’m fond of flowers, but admit, For digging I don’t care a bit. |
| I envy men whose yards are gay, But never work as hard as they; I also envy men who own More wealth than I have ever known. I’m like a lot of men who yearn For joys that they refuse to earn. |
| You cannot have the joys of work And take the comfort of a shirk. I find the man I envy most Is he who’s longest at his post. I could have gold and roses, too, If I would work like those who do. |