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FLOWER-FRAGRANCE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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186

FLOWER-FRAGRANCE

In every flower a woman's spirit dwells,
Sweet, undeveloped, undefined as yet.
The dewy petals with her tears are wet:
She smiles from out the softly-curving bells
Or droops in fern-fronds over rustic wells;
She gives the wholesome scent to mignonette;
Her lips within the foxglove may be met
Or in the hyacinthine honeyed cells.
And still to-day the difference is there!
This woman lurked within the luscious furze
Millions of years ago. What lips are hers,
Thrilling the lips that touch them with a rare
And occult sweetness past man's power to bear.
What passionate gifts the rose-woman confers!
How the white lily-maiden moves and stirs
Her lover to a worship like despair!

187

The blossom-phases woman has passed through
Leave signs and tokens we may recognise.
This woman by the blueness of her eyes
Was surely in Paradise a hare-bell blue:
Another was a rose of loveliest hue,
Sweet as God's dawning fancy could devise.
Woman has loved us under other skies;
Faithful, while era after era flew.
1885.