To Margarita.
Across the gorse-clad common, sprent with gold,
Through lanes of black-thorn, bright with blooms of snow,
Up sunny slopes, with daisies all aglow,
We walked, and talked of things both new and old.
In memory of those Spring-days, loved so well,
I send to thee this tiny, modest gem,
Dropped from a Spanish monarch's diadem,
Or, shall I say, his cross of San Miguel.
Such wealth of jewels had that poet-king,
This little straggling pearl forgotten lay,
And connoisseurs, who passed it on the way,
Disdained to pick it up, - the common thing!
To me it seemed to gleam with light untold,
And so with mickle pains, and mickle fretting,
I coaxed it into this plain English setting,
To wile its lustre forth with English gold.
Thyself a pearl, deign thou this pearl to wear,
Mayhap the critics' glance will then be kind;
If not, what matter? Beauty's in the mind;
I'm pleased if thou be pleased to think it fair.
