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 ETTLE-FLOWER and camomile Grew together, blooming, Only for a little while ; Then the weed, presuming, Thrust the wholesome herb aside, And to all the garden cried, " I succeed, where both have tried ; " Then arose in vulgar pride, On its prowess pluming. Camomile came slowly on, Half its strength concealing : " Thou hast power to wound, alone ; Mine, though sharp, brings healing. He that only smites to slay Needs small skill, the hunters say ; Gnat, that stings and flies away, Needs still less, so all men say — Deeper truth revealing.