The World of Courtesans c10.5

c10.5

*Why should you tremble, should you flee,*
*A-quiver like the plantain tree?*
*Your garment's border, red and fair,*
*Is all a-shiver in the air;*
*Now and again, a lotus-bud*
*Falls to the ground, as red as blood.*
(Ryder, *I. 20*)