WHERE are the sweet old-fashioned posies,
Quaint in form and bright in hue,
Such as grandma gave her lovers
When she walked the garden through?
Lavender, with spikes of azure
Pointing to the dome on high,
Telling thus whence came its color,
Thanking with its breath the sky.
Four-o clock, with heart upfolding,
When the loving sun had gone,
Streak and stain of cunning crimson,
Like the light of early dawn.
Regal lilies, many-petalled,
Like the curling drifts of snow,
With their crown of golden anthers
Poised on malachite below.