IV.

But the morning-glory disdained her birth, Of her chastity made a scorn: "I marvel," she said, "if thy mother earth Was not sick when thou wast born! Thou art pale as an infant an hour dead-- Wan thing, dost weary our eye!" And she weakly laughed and stiffened her head And turned to her love i' the sky. But the jessamine turned to the rose beside With a heavy glance and but sadly sighed.