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Robert Graves - The Troll`s Nosegay
Work rating: Low

A simple nosegay! Was that much to ask?
(Winter still nagged, with scarce a bud yet showing.)
He loved her ill, if he resigned the task.
`Somewhere,` she cried, `there must be blossom blowing.`
It seems my lady wept and the troll swore
By Heaven he hated tears: he`d cure her spleen -
Where she had begged one flower he`d shower fourscore,
A bunch fit to amaze a China Queen. 

Cold fog-drawn Lily, pale mist-magic Rose
He conjured, and in a glassy cauldron set
With elvish unsubstantial Mignonette
And such vague blooms as wandering dreams enclose.
But she?
Awed,
Charmed to tears,
Distracted,
Yet -
Even yet, perhaps, a trifle piqued - who knows?
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