My neighbour's garden

Why in my neighbour’s garden

Are the flowers more sweet than mine?

I had never such bloom of roses,

Such yellow and pink woodbine.

Why in my neighbour’s garden

Are the fruits all red and gold,

While here the grapes are bitter

That hang for my fingers’ hold?

Why in my neighbour’s 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 neighbour’s 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—I’ll steal my neighbour’s fruit

Across the garden wall.