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| I FOUND a flower in a desolate plot, | |
| Where no man wrought,—by a deserted cot, | |
| Where no man dwelt; a strange, dark-colour’d gem, | |
| Black heavy buds on a pale leafless stem; | |
| I pluck’d it, wondering, and with it hied | 5 |
| To my brave May; and, showing it, I cried: | |
| “Look, what a dismal flower! did ever bloom, | |
| Born of our earth and air, wear such a gloom? | |
| It looks as it should grow out of a tomb: | |
| Is it not mournful?” “No,” replied the child; | 10 |
| And, gazing on it thoughtfully, she smiled. | |
| She knows each word of that great book of God, | |
| Spread out between the blue sky and the sod: | |
| “There are no mournful flowers—they are all glad; | |
| This is a solemn one, but not a sad.” | 15 |
| |
| Lo! with the dawn the black buds open’d slowly; | |
| Within each cup a colour deep and holy, | |
| As sacrificial blood, glow’d rich and red, | |
| And through the velvet tissue mantling spread; | |
| While in the midst of this dark crimson heat | 20 |
| A precious golden heart did throb and beat; | |
| Through ruby leaves the morning light did shine, | |
| Each mournful bud had grown a flow’r divine; | |
| And bitter sweet to senses and to soul, | |
| A breathing came from them, that fill’d the whole | 25 |
| Of the surrounding tranced and sunny air | |
| With its strange fragrance, like a silent prayer. | |
| Then cried I, “From the earth’s whole wreath I’ll borrow | |
| No flower but thee! thou exquisite type of sorrow!” | |
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