Merely Statement

You sent me a sprig of mignonette,Cool-coloured, quiet, and it was wetWith green sea-spray, and the salt and the sweetMingled to a fragrance weary and discreetAsa harp played softly in a great room at sunset.

You said: "My sober mignonetteWill brighten your room and you will not forget."

But I have pressed your flower and laid it awayIn a letter, tied with a ribbon knot.I have not forgot.But there is a passion-flower in my vaseStanding above a close-cleared spaceIn 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 dyesIs a hot surprise.How then can I keep my looksFrom the passion-flower leaning sharply over the books?When one has seenThe difficult magnificence of a queenOn one's table,Is one ableTo observe any colour 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.