Larkspur

Blue larkspur—you remind me of her eyes; Long, long ago—oh, very long ago— Ere I grew grave, and grey and worldly-wise, In this enchanted place I told her so.

Ah, Larkspur! Your blue beauty is my bane, For you conjure old summers from the deep, And make the ghost of joy to walk again, And taunt me with delight I could not keep.

Come, now—remind me of far other things: Of lovely shining things all faintly cool; The light on sapphires, and on peacocks' wings; The noonday sky reflected in a pool.

Bring visions of the sun upon the sea, And darker hues of rivers, deep and cold; Bring shades of mellow ancient tapestry, And blues that only Chinese porcelains hold.

Let me remember the Madonna's shawl, In folds above her young, mysterious face; Woven of color He saw first of all— The little Christ—there in His resting-place.

Blue Larkspur—teach me how to break your spell! Bring me remembrance of tropic skies— Or blue of ice, of which old sailors tell— Or blue of anything—except her eyes.