From Honoré deBalzac's Les Illusions Perdus (Lost Illusions)
Translated by Katharine Prescott-Wormeley
In Nature's poem flowers have each their word: The rose of love and beauty sings alone; The violet's soul exhales in tenderest tone; The lily's one pure simple note is heard. The cold Camellia only, stiff and white, Rose without perfume, lily without grace, When chilling winter shows his icy face, Blooms for a world that vainly seeks delight. Yet, in a theatre, or ball-room light, With alabaster petals opening fair, I gladly see Camellias shining bright Above some stately woman's raven hair, Whose noble form fulfils the heart's desire, Like Grecian marbles warmed by Phidian fire.
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