flower-cup's nectared sweets to sip, When on smooth petals he would slip Or over tangled stamens trip, And headlong in the pollen rolled, Crawl out quite dusted o'er with gold. Or else his heavy feet would stumble Against some bud and down he'd tumble Amongst the grass; there lie and grumble In low, soft bass—poor maudlin bumble! With tipsy hum on sleepy wing He buzzed a glee—a bacchic thing Which, wandering strangely in the moon, He learned from grigs that sing in June, Unknown to sober bees who dwell Through the dark hours in waxen cell. When south wind floated him away The music of the summer day Lost something: sure it was a pain To miss that dainty star-light strain. 

 

 

   WATER LILIES AT SUNSET 

 Mine eyes have seen when once at sunset hour White lily flocks that edged a lonely lake All rose and sank upon the lifting swell That swayed their long stems lazily, and lapped Their floating pads and stirred among the leaves. And when the sun from western gates of day Poured colored flames, they, kissed to ruddy shame, So blushed through snowy petals, that they glowed Like roses morning-blown in dewy bowers, When garden-walks lie dark with early shade. That so their perfumed chalices were brimmed With liquid glory till they overflowed And spilled rich lights and purple shadows out, That splashed the pool with gold, and stained its waves In tints of violet and ruby blooms. But when the flashing gem that lit the day Dropped in its far blue casket of the hills, The rainbow paintings faded from the mere, The wine-dark shades grew black, the gilding dimmed, While, paling slow through tender amber hues, The crimsoned lilies blanched to coldest white, And wanly shivered in the evening breeze. When twilight closed—when earliest dew-drops fell All frosty-chill deep down their golden hearts, They shrank at that still touch, as maidens shrink, When love's first footstep frights with sweet alarms The untrod wildness of their virgin breasts; Then shut their ivory cups, and dipping low Their folded beauties in the gloomy wave, They nodded drowsily and heaved in sleep. But sweeter far than summer dreams at dawn, Their mingled breaths from out the darkness stole, Across the silent lake, the winding shores, The shadowy hills that rose in lawny slopes, The marsh among whose reeds the wild fowl screamed, And dusky woodlands where the night came down. 

 

 

   BETWEEN THE FLOWERS 

 An open door and door-steps wide, 

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