Poemetry: Nymph

What is best of the hyacinth and rose?

Though the rose be sweet and countenance fair,

she lacks a blush to worldly affairs,

peacocking in her pretentious pose.

The hyacinth may smell a scented sweet

but cold are the flowers that adorn her hair;

colder are her frozen eyes that stare

frigid glances and apathy mete.

No, a barren field is better suited,

with her fallow fields, than either flower

for honest lie her furrows every hour,

empty of all but never polluted.

Nothingness be my fate and be my grant,

but here unbound my root and roof may I replant.

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