Jars of purple, pearl, and blue,
Quick she fills with nectared dew;
All the odors Summer knows
On cold April she bestows.
Lifeless though the garden be,
Here she holds a quaint levee;
Lords and ladies, courtiers gay,
Nodding plumes in rich array.
Now within my quiet room,
Two in royal colors bloom,
Sent by neighbor kind and wise,
Prophecy of Paradise!
