(Presuming that the rose monologue was not a Watsonian liberty...Holmes wonders upon from whence those foreign words came.)
Sonnet to The Rose Monologue
I have walked with poets, but build an abode of science
You traverse the sciences, but live in the dreamworld of poets
But in company of the Phelps, I felt a strange defiance
Toward method; strange! for you, not I, are more humbled before roses.
From whence did that foreign, beautiful conclusion come,
Lovingly said..."It is only goodness which gives extras."
The human criminality of clergy once made my theological interest numb
But my long disillusionment is broken - by no greater thing than floras.
Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,
So I survey an emotional glacier to see what whispers on the fringes,
And observe a few hair-thin cracks from which comes new green growth,
As delicate and fine and miraculous as anatomical meninges.
This is clear: some part of your poet-soul has been endowed to me
And has become subtly ingrained in the fabric of my own identity.