Like a cloud of morn they bore,
Or rosy wave on grassy shore,
That, breaking, dashed the silver spray
Thay met—the Lily-lances play;
In crested legends on that came
Against them—snow & burning flame
Mixing with the crimson flood
Of roses & their fragrant blood,
Whereof the grass undue was rife,
As surged & rolled the floral strife,
With checquered fortune o’er the green,
Until at last up-rose the Queen:
And caused the zephyr horns to blow
A truce, the victor’s crown to show.
But like a garland on the ground
Of roses & of lilies found,
So linked & locked in strife they lay
Each silver stem & clinging spray,
The doughty champions could not rise
Before the Queen to claim her prize.
So to the field of battle down
She stepped, with rose & lily crown
Of silver & of gold fair wrought;
And thus Queen Summer spake her thought:
And to each warrior thus did say:
Read in the fortune of your fray
Fit emblem sweet of unity,
Nor Rose nor Lily plant on high,
But side by side in equal right,
And pleasant cheer the Red & White:
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