SONNET TO A BOWL OF GOLD AND SCARLET TULIPS.
O blossoms! when I gaze
Down into your fair, radiant faces,
Glowing up at me from verdant graces;
Your rarities amaze.
The very gold-bars of the Summer Sun
May well give place to your more candent hue.
For sunshine yet, I still can seek in you;
E’en when the Orb’s illuminèd course is run.
Your damask pinions, furled about your form
Give subtle sheen and incense to the air;
Your gold-dust tongues kiss to the winds pale care
Alone for peace and pleasure were ye borne.
Whilst to my mind ye bring me, by your grace,
A yet more lovely and more radiant face.
Bournemouth,
April 12th, 1915.