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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374160" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Garden</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374160" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">CHOKED with ill weeds my garden lay a-dying, <br>Hard was the ground, no bud had heart to blow, <br>Yet shone your smile there, with your soft breath sighing: <br>'Have patience, for some day the flowers will grow.' </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374160" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Some weeds you killed, you made a plot and tilled it; <br>'My plot,' you said, 'rich harvest yet shall give,' <br>With sun-warmed seeds of hope your dear hands filled it, <br>With rain-soft tears of pity bade them live. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374160" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">So, weak among the weeds that had withstood you, <br>One little pure white flower grew by-and-by; <br>You could not pluck my flower--alas! how should you? <br>You sowed the seed, but let the blossom die.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a></strong></div>

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