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And o'er the lakelet's breast there glow'd
A yet intenser blue.
As from the breast of heaven looked out
The few and timid rays
Of the first stars that venture forth
After the Sun-God's blaze.
And our fond Lovers twain must part—
The Ladye Edith sighed—
And whispered—"Here again, my Love,
We meet at even-tide?"—
Sir Rupert smiled—and from the bank
A Pink then gather'd he,
And said—"sweet Ladye of my Love,
Edith—take this, from me."
Now ye who read this tale, perchance,
Than Edith know no more
The language that fair flower would speak,
In Flora's emblem-lore?
Ladyes—take heed how ye refuse,
And Knights—to whom ye bring
That mystic flower—for the next gift
Should be—a plain gold ring.
Now Edith knew its meaning not,
