No. 1—Aerial.
DOWN the long garden path the message came,
Borne by the breeze in a soft, wayward speed;
“My petals spread, soft burns my blossom-flame,
Yet do I know defeat and barren shame;
Dost thou then fail me in my flower-need?”
A lily-bell hung in her curving spire;
Sweet peas on pools of morning air set sail;
Womanly roses opened; did this fire,
This wordless furthering of deep desire
Waft from their midst down to the meadow-rail?
Who took the message? Did the iris there,
Masculine, bold, defy the grasses’ thralls.
Mid the white lamps of daisies did one flare
Concentrate light? Did a coarse mallow dare
To think that it might answer to the call?
Up the blue garden air a wingèd ship,
Humming with hurry, takes its zig-zag way,
Hangs for a second where the poppies’ tip
Shoots to the hare-bells, larkspurs, but to slip
Impatiently from honeyed bud and spray.
Then ardent pansies warmer purple glow;
Then poppies sigh for languor. Do they see
The yellow tulip near them suddenly grow
Quivering, tremulous? Does the tulip know
What meadow-flower sent the pollen-bee?
No. 2—Invasion.
In wooded depths the lilies grew,
Nunlike in canopies of green.
Hanging white bells of paladin
In Gothic ferns beneath the yew—
A sanctuary, with the dew
Telling its beads by leafy screen.
And where the dandelion ranks,
Ranged Persian bright each blazing shield,
Was far away in sedgy field—
Too dense with spears of thistle hordes
To menace distant lily chords,
Or chapel treasure all unsealed;
And all day nettle airships sail,
And on the moonlight thistle swords
Leap from their scabbards, flashing towards
The priestly yew that guards the vale;
Till haughty casquéd snowdrops quail,
And violets rush borderwards.