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A Tulip Garden

 Guarded within the old red wall's embrace,
Marshalled like soldiers in gay company,
The tulips stand arrayed.
Here infantry Wheels out into the sunlight.
What bold grace Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace! Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry, With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye Of purple batteries, every gun in place.
Forward they come, with flaunting colours spread, With torches burning, stepping out in time To some quick, unheard march.
Our ears are dead, We cannot catch the tune.
In pantomime Parades that army.
With our utmost powers We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers.

Poem by Amy Lowell
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