CHRYSANTHEMUMS.
157
There grew one plant in utter want
Of bud or blossom-dower;—
I broke a spray of leaves away,
And said, "The winter hour
Will crown these stems with diadems,—
This bears the Christ's sweet flower.
Of bud or blossom-dower;—
I broke a spray of leaves away,
And said, "The winter hour
Will crown these stems with diadems,—
This bears the Christ's sweet flower.
"It cheers with bloom the stormy gloom
By chill December nursed;
And it is told in stories old
That this fair blossom first,
On that blest morn when Christ was born,
Into whim beauty burst.
By chill December nursed;
And it is told in stories old
That this fair blossom first,
On that blest morn when Christ was born,
Into whim beauty burst.
"Perhaps—ah well, we cannot tell
If truly it be so;
I but repeat the legend sweet,
And only this I know,—
That in the prime of Christmas time
The Christ's sweet flowers blow.
If truly it be so;
I but repeat the legend sweet,
And only this I know,—
That in the prime of Christmas time
The Christ's sweet flowers blow.
"More pure and clear than any here,
Their snowy discs unfold,
White as a star that melts afar
Into the morning's gold,
Their snowy discs unfold,
White as a star that melts afar
Into the morning's gold,
