l8 CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 



Japonica, and ev'n the merry mites 



That balance on the trumpet-flower's edge, 



Tippling their horns of honey. And with them 



All the delightsome things of old romance — 



The royal violet, and Sappho's rose ; 



The fleur-de-lis, the flower of chivalry ; 



The lotus, born of eternities. 



Holding immortal ichor — hovered there. 



Hovered a moment, chiming in one strain. 



Then falling, failing, ever on the wing. 



Sought other skies. 



And I upon the shore 

 Watched a far bark into a bank of mist, 

 A dim blue bank built up along the sea ; 

 The bark still sailing, hull and tapering spire 

 A line of light, silvery sheathed about 

 With deepening vapors, slowly gliding on 

 To denser shadow, slow and even slower, 

 Fainting and fading, till a phantom craft 

 Was hid in sad recesses of the clouds, 

 A vanished apparition — and above. 

 Upon the paler of a peaceful sky. 

 Fair Hesper, like a flower, bloomed out in heaven. 



Harriet Prescott Spofford. 



