By Ameen Rihani

The violets their soft, dark lashes part,
While robins serenade them far and near ;
But the anemone, with ebon heart
And blood-shot eyes, pretends she does not

The violets invite the nightingale
Whose carols fall in dew upon their bed ;
But the hydrangea, as saffron pale,
Holds high above the wall her nodding head.

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