Amy Lowell (
1874-
1925)
I put your leaves aside,
One by one:
The stiff, broad outer leaves;
The smaller ones,
Pleasant to touch, veined with purple;
The glazed inner leaves.
One by one
I parted you from your leaves,
Until you stood up like a white flower
Swaying slightly in the evening wind.
White flower,
Flower of
wax, of
jade, of unstreaked
agate;
Flower with surfaces of ice,
With shadows faintly crimson.
Where in all the garden is there such a flower?
The stars crowd through the
lilac leaves
To look at you.
The low
moon brightens you with silver.
The bud is more than the
calyx.
There is nothing to equal a white bud,
Of no colour, and of all,
Burnished by
moonlight,
Thrust upon by a softly-winging wind.