Poems (Scudder)/Hollyhocks
For works with similar titles, see Hollyhocks.
HOLLYHOCKS
These satin-skirted hollyhocks that lean Across the picket fence their weight of bloom Remind me somehow of the pleasant gloom Of an old parlor. Shades of cool leaf-green In rugs perhaps and curtains, with between The richer petal-tones of cardinal And ivory and citron. Rise and fall Of the hearth-flame as in a mirror seen On rosewood and gold-lacquer. But the slim Bayberry candles in their sconces wrought Of gilded silver scorn to shrink or flare With every humor of the passing draught, And there are hints of warm, spiced wine and rare Dainties in porcelain bowls heaped to the brim.
But when I try to picture the wide sweep Of silken skirts on which the firelight glows In colors tender as a fading rose To image how the wavering shadows creep Along a rounded arm and sudden leap Over lace-hidden bosom and bare throat Dimming the ruby breastpin's vivid note To lose themselves among the fragrant deep Of close-massed curls—or when I think to see Glint of a gemmed shoe-buckle as she walks With such an indolent and swaying grace— Then, leaning forward on their glossy stalks These flowers seem to gaze into my face With such a grave and gentle mockery.