Let it sink, let it sink
On the pungent-petaled pink
By those poppy puffs;
Fairy-fashioned downiness,
Light, weak moth in furry dress
Of white fluffy stuffs.
Where the thin light slipping sweet
Dimples prints of Fairy feet
On the white-rose blooms,
One dim blossom delicate
Droops a face all pale with hate,
Dead with sick perfumes.
And I read the riddle wove
In this rose's course of love
For the fickle pink:—
Thou the rose's phantom art
Stealing to the pink's false heart
Vampire-like to drink.