O stagnant east-wind, palsied mare
Giddap! The ruby roses' hair
Must blow

Behold how order is the end
Of everything. The roses bend
As one

Order, the law of hoes and rakes
May be perceived in windy quakes
And squalls

The gardener searches earth and sky
The truth in nature to espy
In vain

He well might find that eager balm
In lilies' stately-statued calm;
But then

He well might find it in this fret
Of lilies rusted, rotting, wet
With Rain