Lit tremulous on some rich-tinted flower.
Rich-tinted, truly; no forget-me-not,
Placid with blue serenity; nor yet
That regal flower, stately in its calm
Fair dignity, that hoards its loveliness
From common gaze, with instinct to discern
The presence of unworthy worshippers.
Not till the twilight shadows have shut out
The common crowd that would have rifled all
Its queenly beauty,—does it condescend