HOLLYHOCKS
These satin-skirted hollyhocks that lean
Across the picket fence their weight of bloom
Remind me somehow of the pleasant gloom
Of an old parlor. Shades of cool leaf-green
In rugs perhaps and curtains, with between
The richer petal-tones of cardinal
And ivory and citron. Rise and fall
Of the hearth-flame as in a mirror seen
On rosewood and gold-lacquer. But the slim
Bayberry candles in their sconces wrought
Of gilded silver scorn to shrink or flare
With every humor of the passing draught,
And there are hints of warm, spiced wine and rare
Dainties in porcelain bowls heaped to the brim.
Across the picket fence their weight of bloom
Remind me somehow of the pleasant gloom
Of an old parlor. Shades of cool leaf-green
In rugs perhaps and curtains, with between
The richer petal-tones of cardinal
And ivory and citron. Rise and fall
Of the hearth-flame as in a mirror seen
On rosewood and gold-lacquer. But the slim
Bayberry candles in their sconces wrought
Of gilded silver scorn to shrink or flare
With every humor of the passing draught,
And there are hints of warm, spiced wine and rare
Dainties in porcelain bowls heaped to the brim.
But when I try to picture the wide sweep
Of silken skirts on which the firelight glows
In colors tender as a fading rose
To image how the wavering shadows creep
Along a rounded arm and sudden leap
Over lace-hidden bosom and bare throat
Dimming the ruby breastpin's vivid note
To lose themselves among the fragrant deep
Of close-massed curls—or when I think to see
Glint of a gemmed shoe-buckle as she walks
With such an indolent and swaying grace—
Then, leaning forward on their glossy stalks
These flowers seem to gaze into my face
With such a grave and gentle mockery.
Of silken skirts on which the firelight glows
In colors tender as a fading rose
To image how the wavering shadows creep
Along a rounded arm and sudden leap
Over lace-hidden bosom and bare throat
Dimming the ruby breastpin's vivid note
To lose themselves among the fragrant deep
Of close-massed curls—or when I think to see
Glint of a gemmed shoe-buckle as she walks
With such an indolent and swaying grace—
Then, leaning forward on their glossy stalks
These flowers seem to gaze into my face
With such a grave and gentle mockery.
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