Now folds the Tree of Day its perfect flowers, And every bloom becomes a bud again, Shut and sealed up against the golden showers Of bees that hover in the velvet hours.... Now a strain Wild and mournful blown from shadow towers, Echoed from shadow ships upon the foam, Proclaims the Queen of Night. From their bowers The dark Princess fluttering, wing their flight To their old Mother, in her huge old home.
that reminds me of these flowers my mum had in the pots on the patio last year which closed up when the sun wasnt shining on them. and when the sun was on them they were beautiful pink and quite big compared to whe tehy were closed.
