I think of the slope where the rabbits fed,
Of the periwinks’ rockwork lair,
Of the fuchsias ringing their bells of red –
And the something else seen there.
Between the blooms where the sod basked bright,
By the bobbing fuchsia trees,
Was another and yet more eyesome sight –
The sight that richened these.
I shall seek those beauties in the spring,
When the days are fit and fair,
But only as foils to the one more thing
That also will flower there!