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To a Yellow Tea Rose
Having been all one space would allow, she seems careless of her long perch now. Once I saw her, light and tapered flame hug and drink the green wick whence she came. Then, if thunder cracked its windy whip, firm as a boy she clung with her green grip. (Time, the old black-snouted weevil stirred under leaves, so still I scarcely heard.) Now each married petal curls and smiles goldenly. Her loosened breath beguiles casual bees, and calm gardens of air corrupt her, and I think she doesn't care. A petal dropped! as if it were a glove- I do not think this ripened queen will move herself or save from all these royal clothes one yellow rag to signify the rose. Now I think I feel her lightly kiss the hundred elements and tell them this: "Farewell my dears, and may your praises win back from Heaven such shapeliness again."