Cinquain
Lilies Are swaying chalices Of glistening alabaster, From which both men and bees sip Nectar.
Sarah A. Heinzerling
SourceLicence:Public domain (US, unrenewed)
Lilies Are swaying chalices Of glistening alabaster, From which both men and bees sip Nectar.
Lilies sway like cups held out for drinking. That single image carries the whole poem. Heinzerling calls the flowers "chalices," a word that suggests something almost ceremonial, and she describes them as made of "glistening alabaster," a smooth, pale stone that makes the petals seem both delicate and luxurious. The flowers aren't just pretty here; they're offering something.
The last two lines widen the picture. Both "men and bees" sip from them, which quietly puts humans and insects on the same level, equally drawn to the lilies' sweetness. It's a small, lovely surprise, since we don't usually think of people drinking nectar alongside bees.
The speaker doesn't tell us how she feels outright, but her admiration comes through in the word choices. The mood is calm, hushed, and a little reverent, like pausing to watch something beautiful. The poem's brevity helps: the form, a cinquain of five short lines, ends on the single word "Nectar," leaving the sweetness lingering.