The Trolls Nosegay

 A simple nosegay! Was that much to ask?
(Winter still nagged, with scarce a bud yet showing.
)
He loved her ill, if he resigned the task.

'Somewhere,' she cried, 'there must be blossom blowing.
'
It seems my lady wept and the troll swore
By Heaven he hated tears: he'd cure her spleen -
Where she had begged one flower he'd shower fourscore,
A bunch fit to amaze a China Queen.
 

Cold fog-drawn Lily, pale mist-magic Rose
He conjured, and in a glassy cauldron set
WIth elvish unsubstantial Mignonette
And such vague blooms as wandering dreams enclose.

But she?
Awed,
Charmed to tears,
Distracted,
Yet -
Even yet, perhaps, a trifle piqued - who knows?

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