Deep-hued, delicious,
Flame-spirits troublous,
Poignant and tender,
Oh for the gorgeous
Red-golden poppies,
Passion-compelling,
Regal, barbaric,
Oh for the splendid
Throbbing carnations
Breathing the spicy
Heat of the southland,
Drowning in color
Moth-stir or wing-flash
Of the bold sunbird,
Stifling with perfume
Bee-whir or vivid
Butterfly wooing.
—I yearn for color,
Warmth, fiery fragrance—
In my love's garden
None but white flowers.
Flame-spirits troublous,
Poignant and tender,
Oh for the gorgeous
Red-golden poppies,
Passion-compelling,
Regal, barbaric,
Oh for the splendid
Throbbing carnations
Breathing the spicy
Heat of the southland,
Drowning in color
Moth-stir or wing-flash
Of the bold sunbird,
Stifling with perfume
Bee-whir or vivid
Butterfly wooing.
—I yearn for color,
Warmth, fiery fragrance—
In my love's garden
None but white flowers.
THE SWALLOW VASES
I remember those vases. Never
Have I seen another two—
They were up in the big north bedroom
And were colored a lovely blue
Have I seen another two—
They were up in the big north bedroom
And were colored a lovely blue
They stood at each end of the mantel
On their solid gilt balls of feet,
They were patterned with darting swallows
Plump-breasted and lithe and sweet.
On their solid gilt balls of feet,
They were patterned with darting swallows
Plump-breasted and lithe and sweet.
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