“
Skirting the rocks at the forest edge With a running flame from ledge to ledge, Or swaying deeper in shadowy glooms, A smoldering fire in her dusky blooms; Bronzed and molded by wind and sun, Maddening, gladdening every one With a gypsy beauty full and fine,— A health to the crimson columbine!
— ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN