Classic Poem

Here, by this crumbling wall
We'll spread the feast, then watch what guests it brings.
Earth-rooted flowers to flowers of heaven shall call,
And all the gorgeous air shall wink with wings.

We'll choose what they love most
As all men must, whose guests are of the sky:
Not lavender, of lost gardens the sweet ghost;
But heliotrope, young Psyche's cherry-pie.

Be sure she does not pine
For any phantom feast, that heavenly Maid!
'Tis we that make a wraith of things divine,
And think the very soul into a shade.

The Chilian orange ball
First of the shrubs that Tortoise-shells prefer,
Must hang its honeyed clusters over all
And tempt the freckled Blue to flutter near.

With globes of fragrant gold
Luring the green-veined White from near and far,
While faultless Painted Ladies here unfold
Their pearly fans, inlaid with moon and star;

Till later Buddleias trail
Their long racemes of violet and of rose,
Round which the glorious Admirals dip and sail,
And swarthy Peacocks flit and sip and doze.

Hedging them closely round
Veronica must spread her spikes of blue,
That sun and flowers may in one sleep be drowned
Yet keep her own Fritillaries fluttering, too.

Blue is their heart's delight.
Therefore, though crimson petals also please,
And soft white wings will sail to bridal white
Like yachts with orange tips on blossoming seas;

We'll make them doubly blest
With this, the deepening blue of children's eyes;
For winged creatures love that colour best,
Which smiled upon them, once, in Paradise.