Like little, eager children
The tiptoe tulips stand,
Row upon row of dancing heads
In joyous saraband.
With lithe, long emerald petticoats,
And happy hands tossed up,
The sunshine is the laughter
That brims their golden cup.
XXXIX
Vanquished
Heart, here are roses burning with the South—
(“Fairer was her false mouth”)—
Close your tired eyes, the twilight gives you rest—
(“Cool was her snowy breast”).
Take of the sunshine, nor remember rain—
(“Love is a cruel pain”)—
Hush! you shall sleep forgetting love’s alarms—
(“Sleep died in her false arms”).