Poem by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (Stetson)

The Beds of Fleur-de-Lys

HIGH-LYING, sea-blown stretches of green turf,
  Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea,
Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky,
And, curving over them as long they lie,
    Beds of wild fleur-de-lys.        

Wide-flowing, self-sown, stealing near and far,
  Breaking the green like islands in the sea;
Great stretches at your feet, and spots that bend
Dwindling over the horizon’s end,—
    Wild beds of fleur-de-lys.        

The light keen wind streams on across the lifts,
  Their wind of western springtime by the sea;
The close turf smiles unmoved, but over her
Is the far-flying rustle and sweet stir
    In beds of fleur-de-lys.        

And here and there across the smooth, low grass
  Tall maidens wander, thinking of the sea;
And bend, and bend, with light robes blown aside,
For the blue lily-flowers that bloom so wide,—
    The beds of fleur-de-lys.

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