| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920. 1920. |
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| Merely Statement |
| | | Amy Lowell (1874–1925) |
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| YOU sent me a sprig of mignonette, | |
| Cool-colored, quiet, and it was wet | |
| With green sea-spray, and the salt and the sweet | |
| Mingled to a fragrance weary and discreet | |
| As a harp played softly in a great room at sunset. | 5 |
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| You said: “My sober mignonette | |
| Will brighten your room and you will not forget.” | |
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| But I have pressed your flower and laid it away | |
| In a letter, tied with a ribbon knot. | |
| I have not forgot. | 10 |
| But there is a passion-flower in my vase | |
| Standing above a close-cleared space | |
| In the midst of a jumble of papers and books. | |
| The passion-flower holds my eyes, | |
| And the light-under-light of its blue and purple dyes | 15 |
| Is a hot surprise. | |
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| How then can I keep my looks | |
| From the passion-flower leaning sharply over the books? | |
| When one has seen | |
| The difficult magnificence of a queen | 20 |
| On one’s table, | |
| Is one able | |
| To observe any color in a mignonette? | |
| I will not think of sunset, I crave the dawn, | |
| With its rose-red light on the wings of a swan, | 25 |
| And a queen pacing slowly through the Parthenon, | |
Her dress a stare of purple between pillars of stone.
The Bookman | |
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