Perhaps the world is tired of pageantries,

And all the weary women called the Hours,

Jaded with jewels, shall exchange for flowers

Their badge of pride. In violet harmonies,

With sweet blue veils of silence o’er their eyes,

They shall return to Spring’s most languorous bowers;

And Light and Beauty shall come down as showers

Releasing life from all its pedantries.

Only the bloomy purple hill to see

Thro’ half-closed lids, and only to be blind

With asphodils! Shall these things ever be?

Surely the time is ripe to live for this

Dawn, springing radiant from her sleep to find

A world of lovers waiting for her kiss.