But the red c.o.c.k crew too early, And the fays left hurriedly, And this is why in the morning Their petticoats there you see.
III
THE TIGER-LILY.
A sultan proud and tawny At elegant ease he stands, With his bare throat brown and scrawny, And his indolent, leaf-like hands.
And the eunuch tulips that listen In their gaudy turbans so, With their scimetar leaves that glisten, Are guards of his seraglio;
Where sultana roses musky, Voluptuous in houri charms, With their bold b.r.e.a.s.t.s deep and dusky, Impatiently wait his arms.
Tall, beautiful, sad, and slender, His Greek-girl dancing slaves, For the white-limbed lilies tender His royal hand he waves.
While he watches them, softly smiling, His favorite rose that hour With a b.u.t.terfly gallant is wiling In her attar-scented bower.
IV
VENGEANCE.
I
Let it sink, let it sink On the pungent-petaled pink By those poppy puffs; Fairy-fashioned downiness, Light, weak moth in furry dress Of white fluffy stuffs.
II
Where the thin light slipping sweet Dimples prints of Fairy feet On the white-rose blooms, One dim blossom delicate Droops a face all pale with hate, Dead with sick perfumes.
III
And I read the riddle wove In this rose"s course of love For the fickle pink:-- Thou the rose"s phantom art Stealing to the pink"s false heart Vampire-like to drink.
V
A DEAD LILY.
I
The South had saluted her mouth Till her mouth was sweet with the South.
II
And the North with his breathings low Made the blood in her veins like his snow.
III
And the West with his smiles and his art Poured his honey of life in her heart.
IV
And the East had in whisperings told His secrets more precious than gold.
V
So she grew to a beautiful thought Which a G.o.dhead of love had wrought.
VI
As strange how the power begot it As why--but to kill it and rot it.
MY SUIT.
Faith! the Dandelion is To my mind too lowly; Then the winsome Violet Is, forsooth, too holy.
There"s the Touch-me-not--go to!
What! a face that"s speckled Like a buxom milking-maid"s Which the sun hath freckled!
And the Tiger-lily"s wild, Flirts, is fierce and haughty; And the Sweet-Brier Rose, I swear, p.r.i.c.ks you and is naughty.
Columbine a fool"s cap hath, Then she is too merry; Gossip, I would sooner woo Some plebeian Berry.
There"s the shy Anemone,-- Well--her face shows sorrow; Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day, Dead and gone to-morrow.
And that big-eyed, fair-cheeked wench, The untoward Daisy, She"s been wooed, aye! overmuch-- Then she is too lazy.
Pleasant persons are they all, And their virtues many; Faith, I know but good of all, And naught ill of any.
Marry! "tis a May-apple, Fair-skinned as a Saxon, Whom I woo, a fragrant thing Delicate and waxen.
THE FAMILY BURYING-GROUND.
A wall of crumbling stones doth keep Watch o"er long barrows where they sleep, Old chronicled grave-stones of its dead, On which oblivious mosses creep And lichens gray as lead.
Warm days the lost cows as they pa.s.s Rest here and browse the juicy gra.s.s That springs about its sun-scorched stones; Afar one hears their bells" deep bra.s.s Waft melancholy tones.
Here the wild morning-glory goes A-rambling as the myrtle grows, Wild morning-glories pale as pain, With holy urns, that hint at woes, The night hath filled with rain.