They sell them by the Odéon in Paris yonder,
These scattered petals of that rich bloom Japan.
Deep j**els are crushed to stain each porcelain plan,
Great unfamiliar flowers are torn asunder,
High-tinted and bright-pollened, a sunrise splendour,
To paint these men fantastic, serious, wan,
Exotic drowsy women of sash and fan,
And ivory girls with almond eyes of wonder.
Here's one. A lady walks grey meads somewhere
In rosy skirts that curl extravagantly
And a green robe where clematis seems to die—
Some Primavera-vision gone astray.
Neath pink pale curds of May-bloom in the air
Sleep unimportant legends rose and grey.