Tagetes

I live. Yet still/unmoving stand,
Tagetes ’mid the violets set;
Crimson in hue, of noble band,
To shun the soles that near ‘em get.

The March grass base as my remorse,
And touch and style I once display’d;
The former deeds in time’s worn course
Lie bare where once my pride was laid.

Ease abideth in the ditch below,
Where a shy vulture droppeth nigh;
It slobbereth down ‘pon my brow
Mock’d, I mock, and yet I live thereby.