A stroll through an imaginary garden, which I use here to describe a beautiful woman. I’m fairly sure this poem was triggered by the word “bespangled.” I remember seeing it in a newspaper one day (a tennis column by Bud Collins in the Boston Globe, of all places) and thinking, “I’ve got to use that somewhere.” 

Lissome is my lily, who
Midst a patch bespangled with pansies, 
Willows aloft the violets and whites, 
Of Queen Anne’s Lace, so delightfully frilly. 
 
                        *    *    * 
 
Fancy is my foxglove, who 
Sweet William brightly beside, 
Weaves jaunt’ly from tea cart to trellis, 
Whilst my heart flits airily above. 
 
                        *    *    * 
 
Boundless is her bloom, which 
In all its Morning Glory, 
Fills the bee with smothered hum, 
And like the rose, the wind with perfume.