To Margarita.<br><br>Across the gorse-clad common, sprent with gold,<br>Through lanes of black-thorn, bright with blooms of snow,<br>Up sunny slopes, with daisies all aglow,<br>We walked, and talked of things both new and old.<br><br>In memory of those Spring-days, loved so well,<br>I send to thee this tiny, modest gem,<br>Dropped from a Spanish monarch's diadem,<br>Or, shall I say, his cross of San Miguel.<br><br>Such wealth of jewels had that poet-king,<br>This little straggling pearl forgotten lay,<br>And connoisseurs, who passed it on the way,<br>Disdained to pick it up, - the common thing!<br><br>To me it seemed to gleam with light untold,<br>And so with mickle pains, and mickle fretting,<br>I coaxed it into this plain English setting,<br>To wile its lustre forth with English gold.<br><br>Thyself a pearl, deign thou this pearl to wear,<br>Mayhap the critics' glance will then be kind;<br>If not, what matter? Beauty's in the mind;<br>I'm pleased if thou be pleased to think it fair.