Oh, cut me reeds to blow upon, <br /> Or gather me a star, <br />But leave the sultry passion-flowers <br /> Growing where they are. <br /> <br />I fear their sombre yellow deeps, <br /> Their whirling fringe of black, <br />And he who gives a passion-flower <br /> Always asks it back.<br /><br />Grace Hazard Conkling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tampico/
