O, MY princely flower, shall I never win
To your moated citadel within,
To your guarded thought?
The pansies are proud; but they show to me
Their purple velvets from over the sea,
With gold inwrought.
And they gently smile wherever we meet;
They seem to me like proud ladies sweet
From a foreign shore.
Wild primrose buds in my very hand
Their odorous evening stars expand,
And all their lore.
But your strange eyes gleam as they pass me by,
And seem to dream of a warmer sky,
Far over the sea.