You sent me a sprig of mignonette, Cool-colored, quiet, and it was wet With green sea-spray, and the salt and the sweet Mingled to a fragrance weary and discreet As a harp played softly in a great room at sunset. You said: "My sober mignonette Will brighten your room and you will not forget." But I have pressed your flower and laid it away In a letter, tied with a ribbon knot. I have not forgot. But there is a passion-flower in my vase Standing above a close-cleared space In the midst of a jumble of papers and books. The passion-flower holds my eyes, And the light-under-light of its blue and purple dyes Is a hot surprise. How then can I keep my looks From the passion-flower leaning sharply over the books? When one has seen The difficult magnificence of a queen On one's table, Is one able To observe any color in a mignonette? I will not think of sunset, I crave the dawn, With its rose-red light on the wings of a swan, And a queen pacing slowly through the Parthenon, Her dress a stare of purple between pillars of stone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STALKING LEMURS by KAREN SWENSON BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES THE BIGLOW PAPERS. 2D SERIES: 2. JONATHAN TO JOHN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL MESSIAH; A SACRED ECLOGUE IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S POLLIO by ALEXANDER POPE |