My Neighbours Garden
By Dora Sigerson Shorter
Why in my neighbours garden
Are the flowers more sweet than mine?
I had never such bloom of roses,
Such yellow and pink woodbine.
Why in my neighbours garden
Are the fruits all red and gold,
While here the grapes are bitter
That hang for my fingers hold?
Why in my neighbours garden
Do the birds all fly to sing?
Over the fence between us
One would think twas always spring.
I thought my own wide garden
Once more sweet and fair than all,
Till I saw the gold and crimson
Just over my neighbours wall.
But now I want his thrushes,
And now I want his vine,
If I cannot have his cherries
That grow more red than mine.
The serpent neath his apples
Will tempt me to my fall,
And then-Ill steal my neighbours fruit
Across the garden wall.