Their lives are one exquisite tea—with the lamp unlit,
In autumn and winter. In summer a rose
Climbs in through the open window, caressing it;
And always there are petit-fours, music, and dreams—and repose.
III
Fields where the ugly, with divine-grown eyes
Bloom all to beauty of soft look and word.
Trees, amorous trees, that fold maternal arms
Over joined lips, and halting vows half-heard.
IV