The Glory Of The Oriflamme

The glory of the Oriflamme,
Or strange, red flowers of the South
Hold no such splendours as lie hid
In your sweet mouth!

The secret honey of the cliff,
The lure and laughter of the sea
Are not the dear delight that is
Your face to me!

What wilful trees of any spring
Than your young body are more fair?
What glamour of forgotten gold
Lurks in your hair?

The glory of the Oriflamme,
Or strange, red flowers of the South
Hold no such splendours as lie hid
In your sweet mouth!
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