In the Conservatory
WE came out of the dusk and gloom,
Into the glowing fragrant room,
Walled in and carpeted with bloom.
A merry group we made that day—
Our laughter rang out clear and gay,
For we were young, and it was May.
My cousin Dora walked with me—
Late from her home across the sea,
And fair as any flower was she.
Each pansy lifted up its face,
The slim fern shook her gown of lace,
A glory spread through all the place.
My lady, Lily’s waxen bell,
Bent down, ashamed to hear us tell
How sweet her color, and her smell.
The palms stood up like courtiers tall,
The smilax crept along the wall,
A sunbeam stole and kissed it all.
“Now Dora, we shall see,” I said,
“The Persian violet lift her head,
Blaze out in purple and in red!
The people seek her eagerly,
A rare aristocrat is she,
Proud of her fame as proud can be.”
“So many tongues, her praises sing,”
Said Dora, “through the world they ring,
She looks a heartless haughty thing.”