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Updated: May 13, 2025
A while longer he sat there, watching her changeful face with its lovely mouth and the eyes that some trick of light and shade had deepened to the purple of an iris petal's markings; and the sight seemed to gentle his mood. "I should like to reconcile myself to you," he said slowly.
I am the Tulip from Batavia's shore; The thrifty Fleming for my beauty rare Pays a king's ransom, when that I am fair, And tall, and straight, and pure my petal's core. And, like some Yolande of the days of yore, My long and amply folded skirts I wear, O'er-painted with the blazon that I bear Gules, a fess azure; purpure, fretty, or.
He felt the tears in her voice, however; he knew there was something that she longed to tell. "What is your sadness?" he asked softly, "and why do you put such questions to me now? What is your little trouble?" A moment's hesitation, a moment's hanging of the graceful head the width of a petal's top nearer to his shoulder and then she told him.
I am the Tulip from Batavia's shore; The thrifty Fleming for my beauty rare Pays a king's ransom, when that I am fair, And tall, and straight, and pure my petal's core. And, like some Yolande of the days of yore, My long and amply folded skirts I wear, O'er-painted with the blazon that I bear Gules, a fess azure; purpure, fretty, or.
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