Alfred Lord Tennyson

(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892 / Lincoln / England)

The Flower


Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
"Splendid is the flower!"

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: flower, people, light, night, running

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Flower by Alfred Lord Tennyson )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 3 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. Writing Written Classic Plot Our Lives, Terence G. Craddock
  2. Stripper Tit, Richard Thripp
  3. From Eed - aRe yOU. rEaLy. still DrOniNg.., sEaN nOrTh
  4. A Matter Of Words, Of Muses And Other Ghosts
  5. Massasauga Saga - Lincoln Park Zoo, Ima Ryma
  6. givesthewholegameaway, sEaN nOrTh
  7. Elegy of a crafted death, Shruti Goswami
  8. The Resting Mind!, Varanasi Ramabrahmam
  9. Morning Mist and Clouds, Ananta Madhavan
  10. All Equal, A.j. Binash

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]