Classic Poem

Purple and white the crocus flowers,
And yellow, spread upon
The sober lawn; the hours
Are not more idle in the sun

Perhaps one droops a prettier head,
And one would say: Sweet Queen,
Your lips are white and red,
And round you lies the grass most green

And she, perhaps, for whom is fain
The other, will not heed;
Or, that he may complain,
Babbles, for dalliaunce, with a weed

And he dissimulates despair,
And anger, and surprise;
The while white daisies stare
—And stir not—with their yellow eyes.