CI
A LITTLE flower in my garden groweth.
“Love-in-a-mist” is given as its name.
Another, of blood hue, beside the same,
Doth droop and fall upon the wind that bloweth.
This is the “bleeding heart.” Like mine, it knoweth
The tragic reason for its early fame,
By some sad chance, upon the earth it came;
But soon, though full of bloom, asleep it goeth.
Two emblems have I in these garden flowers.
“Love-in-a-mist” thou must be still for me,
Deep hidden in love’s own mysterious bowers,
Where, all uncertain, I can scarcely see.
Yet from my “bleeding heart” I gain new powers,
Though trampled under foot and crushed by thee.