Patch and Powder

LADY MEADOW, Coquetting there with noon, You balance and sway your rustling trees Like crisp brocade hoop-skirts. Over your curling gold of buttercups You powder thick the daisy-petals, And near the pond. Iris-lashed, heaven-reflected — Yet not too near — You flaunt serenely, One black cow.

Reclining; Much as a Royal favorite wears Her patch. Beneath the smiling blue of her arch eye.