In Columbine’s fingers gently clasped and entwined
In Columbine’s pensile and pale greeny tendrils
There in the Garden of Sleep.
Where silver fountains leap
Hid in a deep recess
There roams my dear princess
’Neath the Castle of Dreams.
Sunk there in a carpet of starwort and cress,
Where myrtle and eglantines gracefully sway
Anent the feet of my lovely princess