Blue and Purple

FRANCIS NEILSON
NEW YORK: B. W. HUEBSCH MCMXX

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY B. W. HUEBSCH


My love is beautiful and sweet; she is like a pale pink rose full of the glory of dew and sun. Sharon’s garden knows not a bloom so fair as she. Persia holds not a fragrance so heavenly in its perfumed bowers. Oh, my wondrous love, pour thy scented charm into the chalice of my longing heart; fill with thy fresh splendour the air I breathe; and give me youth to spend on thee, my well-beloved. I am the gardener, born to tend one flower. My flower is the radiance of a dawn in June. Like a veil of glowing pearls my love spreads her light; she is my morning, my joy of perfect hours. I will sing to her the song fresh roses raise from their delicious petals when night departs and they rejoice, sun-kissed, when all the east is rich in gold. Lovely is my bloom. Her soul is the first blossom given by Him who made the loveliness of Spring.
A pearl set in the hollow of a stone, Wrought deftly by an artist of great skill; A sapphire ’twas that bore the pearl so still Within its bosom; taking from its tone
Those fires of deep delight to Asia known. Blent in an amethyst, the priceless twain Enthronèd were, o’er glowing worlds to reign, In gladness richer than the morn has shown.
She, like a regal lily of the field, On which the sunset colours softly lay, Forgot that life was sometime dark and sad; She smiled, and bade all sorrow’s wounds be healed; Then she was lovelier than heav’n’s best day— Ethereal, in blue and purple clad.