And Through the Infield

I am listening to the rhythm in this Amy Lowell poem. Others can discuss the sexual play and shimmering imagery. I'm looking for the cadence and the movement of the strophe.

The Weather-Cock Points South

I put your leaves aside,
One by one:
The stiff, broad outer leaves;
The smaller ones,
Pleasant to touch, veined with purple;
The glazed inner leaves.
One by one
I parted you from your leaves
Until you stood up like a white flower
Swaying slightly in the evening wind.

White flower,
Flower of wax, of jade, of unstreaked agate;
Flower with surfaces of ice,
With shadows faintly crimson.
Where in all the garden is there such a flower?
The stars crowd through the lilac leaves
To look at you.
The low moon brightens you with silver.

The bud is more than the calyx.
There is nothing to equal a white bud,
Of no colour, and of all,
Burnished by moonlight,
Thrust upon by a softly-swinging wind.

One by one I begin to hear some pattern, only a smaller one maybe. But one by one I discern a rhythm emerging from the outer leaves. Then begin to flower. Flower and begin to burn in the low white moonlight. And swing.