Oh, what a dainty negligence you show
Outspreading all your petals' coquetry,
As careless of restraint as poetry,
Although, like poetry, you surely know
That by the laws of beauty you must grow.
There is a pure and virgin fantasy
In your curled petals, white as driven snow,
And wayward as the unbound locks that blow
Around a maiden's head, when, mad with glee,
With outstretched arms she dances by the sea.
Yet in your glad abandon still you show
The wildest beauty sorrow-touched must be,
To give it worth; your leaves curve tenderly
In subtle arches; so the heart may know
Within the dancing maid the roots of woe.