Fine-tissued as her finger-tips, and white <br /> As all her thoughts; in shape like shields of prize, <br /> As if before young Violet's dreaming eyes <br />Still blazed the two great Theban bucklers bright <br />That swayed the random of that furious fight <br /> Where Palamon and Arcite made assize <br /> For Emily; fresh, crisp as her replies, <br />That, not with sting, but pith, do oft invite <br /> More trial of the tongue; simple, like her, <br />Well fitting lowlihood, yet fine as well, <br /> -- The queen's no finer; rich (though gossamer) <br />In help to him they came to, which may tell <br /> How rich that him SHE'LL come to; thus men see, <br /> Like Violet's self e'en Violet's wafers be.<br /><br />Sidney Lanier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-violet-s-wafers-sent-me-when-i-was-ill/
