Tulips 
Brave little fellows in crimson and yellows, 
Coming while breezes of April are cold, 
Winter can’t freeze you, he flies when he sees you 
Thrusting your spears through the redolent 
mold. 
Jolly Dutch flowers, rejoicing in showers, 
Drink, ere the pageant of Spring passes by! 
Hold your carousals for Robin’s espousals, 
Lifting rich cups for the wine of the sky! 
Dignified urbans in glossy silk turbans, 
Burgherlike blossoms of gardens and squares, 
Nodding so solemn by fountain and column, 
What is the talk of your weighty affairs? 
Pollen and honey (for such is your money ),— 
Gossip and freight of the chaffering bee,— 
Prospects of growing,—what colors are showing,— 
News of rare tulips from over the sea? 
Loitering near you, how often I hear you, 
Just ere your petals at twilight are furled. 
Laugh through the grasses while Evelyn passes, 
“There goes the loveliest flower in the world!” 
—ARTHUR GUITERMAN. 
