<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374149" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Despot</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1 The garden mould was damp and chill,<br>2 Winter had had his brutal will<br>3 Since over all the year's content<br>4 His devastating legions went. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">5 Then Spring's bright banners came: there woke<br>6 Millions of little growing folk<br>7 Who thrilled to know the winter done,<br>8 Gave thanks, and strove towards the sun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">9 Not so the elect; reserved, and slow<br>10 To trust a stranger-sun and grow,<br>11 They hesitated, cowered and hid<br>12 Waiting to see what others did. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">13 Yet even they, a little, grew,<br>14 Put out prim leaves to day and dew,<br>15 And lifted level formal heads<br>16 In their appointed garden beds. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">17 The gardener came: he coldly loved<br>18 The flowers that lived as he approved,<br>19 That duly, decorously grew<br>20 As he, the despot, meant them to. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">21 He saw the wildlings flower more brave<br>22 And bright than any cultured slave;<br>23 Yet, since he had not set them there,<br>24 He hated them for being fair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">25 So he uprooted, one by one<br>26 The free things that had loved the sun,<br>27 The happy, eager, fruitful seeds<br>28 That had not known that they were weeds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374149" data-title="The Despot de Edith Nesbit" data-description="1 The garden mould was damp and chill, 2 Winter had had his brutal will 3 Since over all the year's content 4 His devastating legions went. 5 Then Spring's bright banners came: there woke 6 Millions of little growing folk 7 Who thrilled to know ..."></div> </div> </div>

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