Five Fancies.

I THE GLADIOLAS.     As tall as the lily, as tall as the rose,      And almost as tall as the hollyhocks,     Ranked breast to breast in sentinel rows      Stand the gladiola stocks.     And some are red as the humming-bird's blood      And some are pied as the butterfly race,     And each is shaped like a velvet hood      Gold-lined with delicate lace.     For you know the goblins that come like musk      To tumble and romp in the flowers' laps,     When you see big fire-fly eyes in the dusk,      Hang there their goblin caps. II THE MORNING-GLORIES.     They bloom up the fresh, green trellis      In airy, vigorous ease,     And their fragrant, sensuous honey      Is best beloved of the bees.     Oh! the rose knows the dainty secret      How the morning-glory blows,     For the rose told me the secret,      And the jessamine told the rose.     And the jessamine said at midnight,      Ere the red cock woke and crew,     That the fays of queen Titania      Came there to bathe in the dew.     And the merry moonlight glistened      On wet, long, yellow hair,     And their feet on the flowers drowsy      Trod softer than any air.     And their petticoats, gay as bubbles,      They hung up every one     On the morning-glories' tendrils      Till their moonlight bath were done.     But the red cock crew too early,      And the fays left hurriedly,     And this is why in the morning      Their petticoats there you see. III THE TIGER-LILY.     A sultan proud and tawny      At elegant ease he stands,     With his bare throat brown and scrawny,      And his indolent, leaf-like hands.     And the eunuch tulips that listen      In their gaudy turbans so,     With their scimetar leaves that glisten,      Are guards of his seraglio;     Where sultana roses musky,      Voluptuous in houri charms,     With their bold breasts deep and dusky,      Impatiently wait his arms.     Tall, beautiful, sad, and slender,      His Greek-girl dancing slaves,     For the white-limbed lilies tender      His royal hand he waves.     While he watches them, softly smiling,      His favorite rose that hour     With a butterfly gallant is wiling      In her attar-scented bower. IV VENGEANCE.     I     Let it sink, let it sink     On the pungent-petaled pink         By those poppy puffs;     Fairy-fashioned downiness,     Light, weak moth in furry dress         Of white fluffy stuffs.     II     Where the thin light slipping sweet     Dimples prints of Fairy feet         On the white-rose blooms,     One dim blossom delicate     Droops a face all pale with hate,         Dead with sick perfumes.     III     And I read the riddle wove     In this rose's course of love         For the fickle pink: -     Thou the rose's phantom art     Stealing to the pink's false heart         Vampire-like to drink. V A DEAD LILY.     I     The South had saluted her mouth     Till her mouth was sweet with the South.     II     And the North with his breathings low     Made the blood in her veins like his snow.     III     And the West with his smiles and his art     Poured his honey of life in her heart.     IV     And the East had in whisperings told     His secrets more precious than gold.     V     So she grew to a beautiful thought     Which a godhead of love had wrought.     VI     As strange how the power begot it     As why - but to kill it and rot it.