Skirting the rocks at the forest edge With a running flame from ledge to ledge, Or swaying deeper in shadowy glooms, A smoldering fire in her dusky blooms; Bronzed and molded by wind and sun, Maddening, gladdening every one With a gypsy beauty full and fine, A health to the crimson columbine! Elaine GoodaleColumbine.
O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell! Jean IngelowSongs of Seven. Seven Times One.