THE JESSAMINE AND THE MORNING-GLORY
I
With his herald torch in the van of day
The star of the morning smiled;
And the streaks in the east were rosy gray,
And the earth lay undefiled,
When a morning-glory's spiral bud,
As pink as a shell and slim,
Unbound the sark of her maidenhood,
And flashed on the dawning dim:
Royal she seemed, to the purple born,
And vain of her beauty and proud to scorn.
II
And she shook her locks at the morning-star,
And her raiment fluttered wide;
Then smiled above at his scimitar,
And gazed around in pride:
The pomegranate near, with its crown of flame,
And the gemmed geraniums nigh,
All bowed their heads at her whispered name,
As she throned herself on high;
While the fuchsia, under her silvery hood,
Shrunk with a face like a bead of blood.
III
All knew that this child of the morning light
Was queen of the morn and them;
That the morning-star, in his beams of white,
Was her prince in a diadem:
'T was he who had given those gems that flash
And jewel the front of her smock;
From his lordly fingers of light did dash
Down pearls where she stooped to mock
A jessamine, pale, in the garden's gloom,
All wan of face, but of sweet perfume.
IV
And the morning-glory, in pride of birth,
From the jessamine turned in scorn:
“I marvel,” she said, “if thy mother earth
Was not sick when thou wast born!
Thou art pale as an infant an hour dead-
Wan thing, dost weary our eye!”
And she weakly laughed and stiffened her head
And turned to her star in the sky.
And the jessamine sighed, as she bent her head,
“I am sick of myself, and I would I were dead!”
V
And the east grew gold with burning bars,
And the sun in his chariot came;
And this princess proud saw her lord of stars
Snuffed out like a taper's flame:
And higher the lord of the light and hours
Glared up the glittering sky,
And the fragile queen of the morning flowers
In his beams did wilt and die:
But the jessamine waxed in the sun-god's ray,
And her breath and her beauty made sweet the day.
