The Cabbage

Here is a tale for any one who wishes: There grew a cabbage once among the flowers, A plain, broad cabbage a good wench, whose hours Were kitchen-busy with plebeian dishes. The rose and lily, toilless, without mottle, Patricians born, despised her: 'How unpleasant!' They cried;'What odour! Worse than any peasant Who soils God's air! Give us our smelling- bottle.' There came a gentleman who owned the garden, Looking about him at both flower and edible, Admiring here and there; a simple sinner, Who sought some bud to be his heart's sweet warden: But passed the flowers and took it seems incredible! That cabbage! But a man must have his dinner.