To My Lady Dahlia.

Uplift thy head, thy golden drooping head
And greet the sun.
Thy loveliness with all this garden share
Nor one by one
Thy dainty petals, oh! so sadly shed.
See how the phlox their glory for thee spread,
And in the pool
Are lilies with their painted cups of wax
Demure and cool.
Live! lest they wake and weep to find thee dead.

—Rhoda Hare.

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