They bloom for me and are for me as fair
As for the man who gives them all his
Thus I am rich because a good man grew
A rose-clad vine for all his neighbor's view.
I know from this that others plant for me,
And what they own my joy may also be;
So why be selfish when so much that's fine
Is grown for you upon your neighbor's vine?
by A.L. Gruber
Your neighbor, sir, whose roses you admire,
Is glad indeed to know that they inspire
Within your breast a feeling quite as fine
As felt by him who owns and tends the vine.
That those fair flowers should give my neighbors joy
But swells my own, and draws therefrom alloy
Which would lessen its full worth, did I not know
That other's pleasure in the flowers grow.
Friend, from my neighbors and this vine I've learned
That sharing pleasure means a profit turned;
And he who shares the joy in what he's grown
Spreads joy abroad and doubles all his own.