The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Treasure Trove

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Through the forest idly,
As my steps I bent,
With a free and happy heart,
Singing as I went.

Cowering in the shade I
Did a floweret spy,
Bright as any star in heaven,
Sweet as any eye.

Down to pluck it stooping,
Thus to me it said,
"Wherefore pluck me only
To wither and to fade?"

Up with its roots I dug it,
I bore it as it grew,
And in my garden-plot at home
I planted it anew;

All in a still and shady place,
Beside my home so dear,
And now it thanks me for my pains
And blossoms all the year.