160 ‘MYSTERIES:
Only a primrose, a violet laden
With the pale perfume of dawn ;
Only a snowdrop, my delicate maiden ;
These have no thorn.
Old-fashioned love, yet you feel it a fountain
Springing for ever, most pure;
Old-fashioned love, yet as adamant mountain
. Solid and sure.
Yes, tender thoughts on your lips will be breaking
By-and-by into a smile;
Love, ere he springs up divine at his waking,
Slumbers awhile.
So, my kissed snowdrop, you took its white blossom
Tenderly into your hand,
Kissed it three times, wear it yet in your bosom—
I understand.