A Feast of Lanterns, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1916]
Robed in pale yellow gown she leans apart,
Guarding her secret trust inviolate;
With mouth that, scarce unclosed, but faintly breathes
Its fragrance, like a tender grief remains
Half-told, half-treasured still. See how she droops
From delicate stem; while her close petals keep
Their shy demeanour. Think not that the fear
Of great cold winds can hinder her from bloom,
Who hides the rarest wonders of the spring
To vie with all the flowers of Chiang Nan.