Perhaps the world is tired of pageantries,
And all the weary women called the Hours,
Jaded with jewels, shall exchange for flowers
Their badge of pride. In violet harmonies,
With sweet blue veils of silence o'er their eyes,
They shall return to Spring's most languorous bowers;
And Light and Beauty shall come down as showers
Releasing life from all its pedantries.
Only the bloomy purple hill to see
Thro’ half-closed lids, and only to be blind
With asphodils! Shall these things ever be?
Surely the time is ripe to live for this
Dawn, springing radiant from her sleep to find
A world of lovers waiting for her kiss.