The Iris, grown between my house and the neighbor’s 
Is just burnishing in its deepest color and glory; 
I wish that someone would come to see it, 
Before it withers away and returns to the dust. 
Translated from the Japanese. 
White Iris, how pure, how lovely, 
Like a virgin 
In her starched lawn fete dress. 
Iris, pallid blue, gold veined, 
And as if colored from dawn chills, 
Or from the yellow fingered touching 
Of curious starlight. 
| bugette Wey 
Streaked with amethystine memories of the night, 
Health-glossed and firm as are those ripe wings 
Of oriental butterflies. 
So in my garden undulating rows of Iris 
Slimly hold their broad flat blooms 
(Like tripods of incense) 
Aloft—towards the moist spearing 
Of morning sunlight. 
—Michael Strange. 
Iris all hues, roses and jessamines, 
Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought 
Mosaic. 
== WMilton: 
