TO CHARLES HAZELWOOD SHANNON
Purple and white the crocus flowers,
And yellow, spread upon
The sober lawn; the hours
Are not more idle in the sun.
Perhaps one droops a prettier head,
And one would say: Sweet Queen,
Your lips are white and red,
And round you lies the grass most green.
And she, perhaps, for whom is fain
The other, will not heed;
Or, that he may complain,
Babbles, for dalliaunce, with a weed.
And he dissimulates despair,
And anger, and suprise;
The while white daisies stare
—And stir not—with their yellow eyes.
POEM
TO ARTHUR EDMONDS
Geranium, houseleek, laid in oblong beds
On the trim grass. The daisies' leprous stain
Is fresh. Each night the daisies burst again,
Though every day the gardener crops their heads.
A wistful child, in foul unwholesome shreds,
Recalls some legend of a daisy chain
That makes a pretty necklace. She would fain
Make one, and wear it, if she had some threads.
Sun, leprous flowers, foul child. The asphalt burns.
The garrulous sparrows perch on metal Burns.
Sing! Sing! they say, and flutter with their wings.
He does not sing, he only wonders why
He is sitting there. The sparrows sing. And I
Yield to the strait allure of simple things.