by Victoria Sackville-West (1892-1962)
In the last orgy of Creation’s hour,
—That fabled day, when all to sudden birth
Sprang,—as the toy of his redundant mirth
God tossed in bounty Colour to the earth.
He held the exquisite and pallid flower,
Spoke new strange words, and in his hands there blushed
The great white rose to crimson slowly flushed.