A WOOD FANCY

The mandrakes lift, like little mosques,

Their domes between the vines,

And butterflies for worshipers

Are flocking to their shrines.

And from tall, tapering mullein towers

And minarets of green,

The honey-bee muezzins drone

To bloodroot buds between,

That pilgrim-wise along the road

Come trooping to the light,

In pale green caftans closely wound

And turbans spotless white.

While all the way with budding things

Is tufted thicker than

The praying mats the Persian weaves

In streets of Ispahan.

And listen! with a lordly note

Like joyous burst of drums,

In gorgeous gown of gold and black

The oriole sultan comes!