And sweet it was to remember that faithfully soil and sun
Had labored together in his behalf and these fragrant globes had spun,—
And over his hand the petals curled, like a baby’s fingers weak,
And dewily kissed like a maiden’s lips his sallow and sunken cheek,
And all that night by his wakeful bed they flooded the comfortless spot
With spice, and he mixed again in his mind the crimson he had forgot,
And turning and tossing as needs he must, it all but soothed him to know
That the utterly perfect queenly things, beautiful, all aglow,
Were close beside him, shaking out with each waft of their rich perfume
A message of pity and tenderness across the midnight gloom.
