Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BATTLE OF THE FLOWERS, by MATHILDE BLIND


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BATTLE OF THE FLOWERS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The battle raged, no blood was spilled
Last Line: Jeanne ray! Jeanne ray!
Alternate Author Name(s): Lake, Claude
Subject(s): Flowers


I.

THE battle raged, no blood was spilled,
Though missiles flew in showers;
Hard though they hit, they never killed
Or maimed the merry throwers:
Or if they killed, those winged darts,
They killed but unprotected hearts;
For flowers from flower-like hands can slay
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



II.

Like humming-birds upon the breeze
So swiftly shot the posies;
Glory of red anemones,
Pink buds of curled-up roses,
Lilacs and lilies of the vale;
Yea, every flower that scents the gale
Yielded up incense to its day,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



III.

How gallantly along the course,
Stepping with conscious glances,
Each flower-decked, gaily harnessed horse,
In rank and file advances!
Even as green boughs and daisy-chains
Enwreathe their bits and bridle-reins,
Bright pleasure hides black grief away
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



IV.

The people humming like a hive,
Swarm closely pressed together,
To watch high fashion's crowded drive
With flirt of fan and feather;
And nosegays thrown up high in air,
Now hitting gray, now golden hair,
Now deftly caught upon their way,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



V.

And past the eager jostling crowd,
Watching their guests from far lands,
Gigs flash by in a violet cloud,
And drags with rose-red garlands;
There meet crowned heads from many zones,
And princes who have lost their thrones,
With gifts from Ind and far Cathay,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



VI.

Ah, who shall bear away the prize
In this bewitching battle,
Where shafts are hurled from brightest eyes,
And Cupid's arrows rattle;
In that fair fight where flowers alone
By fairer flowers are overthrown?
Who shall be victor in this fray?
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



VII.

And people bet with buzz of tongue
As the gay pageant passes;
Now runs a murmur through the throng
And stirs the thrilling masses.
All heads are turned, all necks astrain,
As through the thickening floral rain,
"Look! look! She comes!" you hear them say --
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



VIII.

No turn-out in that festive throng
Is half so bright and airy;
Your cream-white ponies prance along
As if they drew a fairy;
They step along with heads held high,
And favours blue to match the sky:
They know theirs is the winning way,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



IX.

A queen in exile might you be,
Or leader of the fashion?
Some Jenny Lind from over sea
Melting all hearts with passion?
Some tragic Muse whose mighty spell
Unlocks the gates of heaven and hell?
What sceptre is it that you sway?
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



X.

All by yourself in spotless white,
You sit there in your glory;
Your black eyes scintillate with light --
Eyes that may hide a story.
In spotless white with ribbons blue,
You look fresh from a bath of dew
That sparkles in the rising day,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XI.

Triumphant -- without shame or fear --
You air a thousand graces;
Though women turn when you appear
With cold, averted faces;
Though men at sight of you will stop,
As if they looked into a shop;
Shall both for this not doubly pay?
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XII.

And with a smile upon your lips,
Perhaps a shade too rosy,
You shake two dainty finger-tips
And lightly fling a posy:
So might a high-born dame perchance,
In days of tourneys and romance,
Have flung her glove into the fray,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XIII.

As with that little careless sign
You fling your bouquet lightly,
Three graybeards, flushing as with wine,
Lift hats and bow politely;
And one, the grandest of the three,
Stoops low with stiff, rheumatic knee;
Out of the dust he picks your spray,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XIV.

His coat is all ablaze with stars
For deeds of martial daring;
His name, a watchword in the wars,
Kept soldiers from despairing.
Now see beside his orders rare
Your mignonette and maidenhair;
With just a nod you turn away,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XV.

You turn to meet the wintry face
Of an old beggar-woman,
Just there beyond the railed-in space,
Brown, bony, hardly human;
Who in her tatters seems at least
The skeleton of Egypt's feast;
A ghastly emblem of decay,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XVI.

With palsied head and shaking hand,
As if it were December,
Grim by the barrier see her stand,
Just mumbling a "Remember!
Remember in thy days of lust,
That fairest flesh must come to dust;
Then have some pity while you may,"
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XVII.

Why do you shiver at her glance,
As if the wind blew chilly?
Why does your rosy countenance
Turn pale as any lily?
The sun is warm, the sky is bright,
The sea dissolving into light
Breaks into blossom-bells of spray;
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XVIII.

Ah, could some instinct in your breast
Reveal that beggar's story,
Would not your gay life lost its zest,
Your empire lost its glory?
Or would you only care to waste
Life's bounty in yet hotter haste?
For is the world not beauty's prey?
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XIX.

Alighting at the beggar's feet,
A bright Napoleon flashes!
Then gaily through the dust and heat
Your light Victoria dashes.
Again your face is rosy clear,
As with a loud and ringing cheer
They hail you winner of the day,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XX.

And gloriously at set of sun,
In triumph now departing,
The golden prize your flowers have won
Leaves rival bosoms smarting.
How many deem you half divine,
Where amid bouquets you recline --
Proud beauty in the devil's pay,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!



XXI.

Down, down beneath the rolling wheels,
The flowers, so fresh this morning,
Lie trampled under careless heels,
Vile stuff for all men's scorning.
The roses crushed, the lilies soiled,
The violets of their sweets despoiled,
In dusty heaps defile your way,
Jeanne Ray! Jeanne Ray!





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