The Fig Tree and the Flowering Shrub

Flowers which many leaves display,

In fruitless beauty fade away.

Cries one of these, with saucy sneer,

To a plain fig-tree growing near,

“How comes it, honest friend, that thou

Dost in the spring no blossoms show?”

Says he, “I keep them out of view,

For fear I should resemble you,

And in the autumn nought produce

Of permanence and solid use.”

Who soon and much essay to shine,

May dread a premature decline.