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A FLOWER PIECE.
And the rude way-side tangles o'er her nest.Precious to plot and pleachéd alley, too,The mimic nun of the snow-drop, and the friarDwelling within the hooded aconite;The maidens of the pale chrysanthemum,The royal lady of the proud and fairJaponica, and ev'n the merry mites'That balance on the trumpet-flower's edge,Tippling their horns of honey. And with them,All the delightsome things of old romance—The royal violet, and Sappho's rose;The fleur-de-lis, the flower of chivalry;The lotus, born of the eternities,Holding immortal ichor—hovered there,Hovered a moment, chiming in one strain,Then falling, failing, ever on the wing,Sought other skies.Sought other skies.And I, upon the shore,Watched a far bark into a bank of mist,A dim blue bank built up along the sea;The bark still sailing, hull and tapering spireA line of light, silverly sheathed about
