I am the tulip, Holland's choicest flower.
The thrifty Fleming — such my loveliness —
Pays for my perfect bulb a price no less
Than diamond. Lordly lineage is my dower.
Like to a proud Yolande in her young hour
Of pomp and kirtle bright, upon my dress
Of dewy crimson crossed with silver fess,
I bear the painted blazon of my power.
The gardener divine with fingers deft
Spun golden beams of iridescent noon,
And liquid depths of purple fashioned up,
To make for me a robe of royal weft.
Peerless I stand — yet grieve that Nature boon
Poured never perfume in my shining cup!