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Peacocks. A Mood
In Gorgeous plumage, azure, gold and green,
They trample the pale flowers, and their shrill cry
Troubles the garden's bright tranquillity!
Proud birds of Beauty, splendid and serene,
Spreading their brilliant fans, screen after screen
Of burnished sapphire, gemmed with mimic suns—
Strange magic eyes, that, so the legend runs,
Will bring misfortune to this fair demesne . . .
They trample the pale flowers, and their shrill cry
Troubles the garden's bright tranquillity!
Proud birds of Beauty, splendid and serene,
Spreading their brilliant fans, screen after screen
Of burnished sapphire, gemmed with mimic suns—
Strange magic eyes, that, so the legend runs,
Will bring misfortune to this fair demesne . . .
And my gay youth, that, vain and debonair,
Sits in the sunshine—tired at last of play
Sits in the sunshine—tired at last of play
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