The Snowdrop

Now — now, as low I stooped, thought I,

I will see what this snowdropis;

So shall I put much argument by,

And solve a lifetime's mysteries.

A northern wind had frozen the grass;

Its blades were hoar with crystal rime,

Aglint like light-dissecting glass

At beam of morning prime.

From hidden bulb the flower reared up

Its angled, slender, cold, dark stem,

Whence dangled an inverted cup

For tri-leaved diadem.

Beneath these ice-pure sepals lay

A triplet of green-pencilled snow,

Which in the chill-aired gloom of day

Stirred softly to and fro.

Mind fixed, but else made vacant, I,

Lost to my body, called my soul

To don that frail solemnity,

Its inmost self my goal.

And though in vain — no mortal mind

Across that threshold yet hath fared! —

In this collusion I divined

Some consciousness we shared.

Strange roads — while suns, a myriad, set —

Had led us through infinity;

And where they crossed, there then had met

Not two of us, but three.

Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.