Dignified urbans in glossy silk turbans,
Burgherlike blossoms of gardens and squares,
Nodding so solemn by fountain and column,
What is the talk of your weighty affairs?
Pollen and honey (for such is your money),—
Gossip and freight of the chaffering bee,—
Prospects of growing,—what colors are showing,—
News of rare tulips from over the sea?
Loitering near you, how often I hear you,
Just ere your petals at twilight are furled,
Laugh through the grasses while Evelyn passes,
"There goes the loveliest flower in the world!"
Arthur Guiterman
A WHITE IRIS
Tall and clothed in samite,
Chaste and pure,
In smooth armor,—
Your head held high
In its helmet
Of silver:
Jean D'Arc riding
Among the sword blades!
Has Spring for you
Wrought visions,
As it did for her
In a garden?
Pauline B. Barrington