Sent from the south, perhaps—a red bouquet
Of roses, sweetening the fetid air
With scent from gardens by some far away blue bay.
They threw one at the dancing bear;
The white clown caught it. From St. Rémy’s tower
The deep, slow bell tolled out the hour;
The black clown, with his dirty grin
Lay, sprawling in the dust, as She rode in.
She stood on a white horse—and suddenly you saw the bend
Of a far-off road at dawn, with knights riding by,