206 
I seemed a shadow in her patli, 
A cloud upon her sky, 
I deemed it scorn, perchance e’en wrath. 
In her averted eye. 
****** 
It was her natal day. A crowd 
Of cringing nothings came— 
/ call them nothings—for they showed 
Nought noble save a name. 
And flowers were offered — and I brought 
Mine from the brook’s bright rim, 
With Autumn’s Crocuses: not wrought 
Into a garland ti'im. 
But they were wild, and fresh, and sweet. 
And innocent and fair 
As she whom others sought to greet 
With off’rings rich and rare. 
Yet a rose-wreath her brow entwined. 
By daring suitor placed ; 
A gay exotic was enshrined 
Close by her girdled waist. 
