Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. 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.