Princesses
Rose peonies in darkness do not lose
Their glories. They become those Persian, veiled,
And silken houris, held in carved screens, whose
Dusked satin beauty is both crimped and waled,
With nature’s pinking shears and golden edge.
Their frilly sleeves and velvet pistils are
Out of place in an ordinary hedge
In England’s night as if a North Sea haar,
Commanded by the potentate called night,
Had hidden them among slight April flowers
To act as starbeam harem guards. Faint light
Permits pale tints to wile away tulle hours.
..They wait in moonlight for the dawn to free
….Them from their dimmed organza modesty.