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Than thy pure fragile beauty scarce of earth,
The wide Madonna-brows, the locks' pale fall?
  —Thy poet knew a jewel; he decrees
More than the diamond or opal's worth
The pearl whose trembling iris-lights recall
  The wonder and the terror of the seas.


A CHÂTEAU IN THE AISNE
This was the prettiest thing we saw—the wee
Chateau that nestled lilywise beside
Its moat a boy might cross with one bold stride
Two towers double-spired peeped warily
Where frail wistaria smokelike wreathed and clung
A garden hid behind a privet hedge
But sweeter far along the lakelet's edge
The mauve and golden iris thickly clung.
A wood there was of holly, larch and pine
That tapered daintily as mosses fine
Against the softly fading afterglow
Peachbloom and amethyst—all might have been
Painted in powdered gems upon a screen
Of satin with rosewater by Watteau.


CALIFORNIA POPPIES
You crinkled, burnished shells of thinnest gold,
Within your curves might nestle safe from harm
A Venus of the western seas whose form
More rounded-lithe, more lovesome to behold
Than hers of Cyprus, shapen not from cold
White foam, glows sweetly with the changeful, warm

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