BLOODROOT. 



In April s hour of virgin fame 



The bloodroot gives her blossom birth, 

 And trusts within the kindly earth 



The hidden sources of her shame. 



Along the teeming meadow-side, 

 Hard by the river-banks are seen 

 Her close-veined sheaths of tender green, 



With generous frankness opening wide. 



When lo ! the secret of an hour 



By throbbing April warmth unsealed, 

 In sudden splendor stands revealed 



The glowing whiteness of the flower : 



A pure large flower of simple mold, 

 And touched with soft peculiar bloom, 

 Its petals faint with strange perfume, 



And in their midst a disk of gold ! 



O bloodroot! in thy tingling veins 

 The sap of life runs cold and clear ; 

 I break thy shining stem, and fear 



No conscious guilt, no lasting stains. 



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