 | Flower Pieces and other poems |  |
HYACINTH.
For Keats, O Hyacinthus, thus dost showThy sumptuous curling bells of crispèd snow,
Ingrainèd pure as snow's first feathering,
Or dyèd like the richness of Night's wing,
Or sapphire morn, or roseate even-bloom,
And loaden down with luscious perfume.
Were but thine old inscription legible
'Twould suit our modern loss too sadly well.
| Flower Pieces and other poems | |