Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/287

Rh For each one flower, perchance, Blooms as his cognizance: The snowdrop chill, The violet unbeholden, For some: for you the golden Daffodil

Erect, a fighting flower, It breasts the breeziest hour That ever blew, And bent or broke things brittle Or frail, unlike a little Knight like you.

Its flower is firm and fresh And stout like sturdiest flesh Of children: all The strenuous blast that parches Spring hurts it not till March is Near his fall

If winds that prate and fret Remark, rebuke, regret, Lament, or blame The brave plant’s martial passion, It keeps its own free fashion All the same.

We that would fain seem wise Assume grave mouths and eyes Whose looks reprove