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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