Poems (Kimball)/Sweet-Peas

by Harriet McEwen Kimball

SWEET-PEAS.

SWEET-PEAS! Sweet-Peas!
   The very sweetest of all sweet things!
   Airily poised, like butterfly wings,
  On the slender stem.
And now they brood in a still delight;
 And anon, as the light wind touches them,
They tremble and flutter, as feigning flight,
 In coyness—not affright.
   And lest they fly,
    The tricksy Zephyr passes by
With a little moan of make-believe,
   And pretends to die
 Among the cherry-trees!
They only smile—they will not grieve,
   The gay and shy
    Sweet-Peas !

   Sweet-Peas! Sweet-Peas!
The very sweetest of all sweet things!
 Perfect pink and perfect white;
 Exhaling a perfume so rare, so pure,
 It ceaseth never to allure,
 Nor faileth ever to satisfy;
 Like a breath of immortality,
 Like a hint of youth unspent for aye;
 Of love—Ah, well-a-day!
Say, ye sweetest of all sweet things,
    Sweet-Peas,
What are ye likest?—what like ye?
   The dream of Beauty, the wonder that clings
    To snowy-lidded Innocence—
    These mystic nebulæ
   (Souls of flowers to be),
Lightly drifted hence,
And mingling straightway they became
 Visible in pink and white,
  In dainty-delicate forms like these,
And gat themselves a name;
 Dew-christened in laver of morning light,
     "Sweet-Peas!"

   Sweet-Peas! Sweet-Peas!
Here is a handful for her to wear
Who is sweet like them, and more stately-fair.
Lie, nosegay of blushes, mid snows of lace.
And match the bloom of her maiden face
When cometh her own sweetheart to share
The posy modest and debonair,
Whose dear bestowal shall bring him ease
And sweet assurances,
Dispelling sweet anxieties,
     Sweet-Peas!
And will ye have a sweetheart too,
   Sweet-Peas, Sweet-Peas?
Then here's Zephyr come back to woo,
  If you please!
 Nay, but Zephyr is a flirt!
  Make again your wingèd threat
  Till in very truth he fret—
  What's the hurt?—
  And die among the cherry-trees
For love of you,
     Sweet-Peas!