are always beautiful and rare, because out of season. But neither in
season nor out of season does she ever wear a bunch--no matter how
small--of those Russian violets.




FIVE RED POPPIES

TO LADY VIOLET AGAIN




II

FIVE RED POPPIES


They hung their heads in a florist's window. The people of the town did
not buy them, for they wanted roses--yellow, white or crimson. But I, a
lover, passing that way, did covet them for a woman that I knew, and
straightway bought them.

As I placed those poppies in a box, on a bed of green moss, I heard them
chuckle together, with some surprise and much glee. "What a kind fool he
is," said the first poppy, "to buy me, and take me away from those
disagreeable roses, and other hateful blossoms in that damp, musty
window."