In deep, dark earth that only worms do know
From bulbs unseen and half-forgotten, will come a bell
That will not ring but of Candlemas-coming shyly cast its spell.
Oft untended, into the light you’ll grow.
Through weather wet, sun-starved your progress slow,
Hades-like, yours a cold damp hell,
The clay in which we’ll rest, our future does foretell
But light and beauty from this gloom-filled place will glow
To pierce the snow and frosty winter’s pain,
Repel the icy winds and offer promise of warm life anew.
Though those we love have gone, still we love them most.
Like the summer breeze, we know not from where it blew
But only like the snowdrop they will come again
Not, perhaps, in the form we knew but kindly as a beloved ghost.
