I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Just now the lilac is in bloom, All before my little room;
And in my flower-beds, I think, Smile the carnation and the pink...
You like buttercups, dewy sweet,And crocuses, framed in snow;
I like roses, born of the heat,And the red carnation's glow.