Chrysanthemum's Court.

They lift their faces to the light,          And aye they are a gallant band;         The queen of all is snowy white -          A stately thing, and tall and grand.         See, close beside, in yellow drest,          Is the prince consort of the hour;         A bit of God's own sunshine prest          Into a glorious golden flower!         And mark the courtiers' noble grace -          Gay courtiers these, in raiment fine -         Their satin doublets slashed with lace,          Their velvet cloaks as red as wine.         Each maid-in-waiting is most fair -          Note well the graces she unfurls -         The winds have tossed her fluffy hair,          And left it in a thousand curls.         And yonder quaint, old-fashioned one,          Arrayed in palest lavender,         Ah! few there are, when all is done,          In beauty can compare with her.         The pink - I've seen at eventide          A something very like to this,         A cloud adrift upon the sky,          All rosy from the sun's last kiss.         Without the court, the chill and gloom          Of autumn twilight o'er the land;         Within, the grandeur and the bloom          Of queen, of prince, and courtiers grand.