They are women with a secret, these snapdragons,
That is why they shut their mouths so tight
That every man may know
By the haughty way they go
They have something worth the telling to a wight!
Tenderly I prise them open -- find the tongue is all of gold,
Surely, 'tis the tongue of poets, mellow in a story old,
Some fair runs of morning meadows, lit with many golden flowers
That the wizard sun has made us from the silver of the showers!
See them in their velvet bonnets, very modest and demure,
But I hold their shy demeanor just a cunning form of lure --
Yonder bloom is striped and fluffy as the skirts of a Pierette
Lifted on a curve of beauty sly Pierrot will not forget!
Here is one all soft and creamy as a bride in langorous hours --
They are women....they are poets....and they, best of all, are flowers!
First published in The Bulletin, 19 February 1914
