And clashed together, mid a snow
Of petals on the grass below.
Pressed eager then the gazing rows:
Some cried, “the Lily”, some, “the Rose”
But while the fate of battle hung,
Again the silver trumpets sung;
And, sudden charging from each side,
Of Roses and of Lilies ride
A host to still maintain the strife
For roses or for lilies’ life
Rose favoured knights of maidens true,
Their pennons blushing with each hue
Of Rose-craft, since from wild thorn frail
Their order grew—through dark & pale
Of maiden-bloom to damask deep,
Or Gloire-de-Dijon that doth keep
Enfolded fire within his breast,
Still golden hearted like the rest.