Люси Ларком (Lucy Larcom)

The Lily of Resurrection

WHILE the lily dwells in earth,
Walled about with crumbling mould,
She the secret of her birth
Guesses not, nor has been told.
Hides the brown bulb in the ground,
Knowing not she is a flower;
Knowing not she shall be crowned
As a queen, with white-robed power.
Though her whole life is one thrill
Upward, unto skies unseen,
In her husks she wraps her still,
Wondering what her visions mean.
Shivering, while the bursting scales
Leave her heart bare, with a sigh
She her unclad state bewails,
Whispering to herself, " I die."
Die? Then may she welcome death,
Leaving darkness underground,
Breathing out her sweet, free breath
Into the new heavens around.
Die? She bathes in ether warm:
Beautiful without, within,
See at last the imprisoned form
All its fair proportions win!
Life it means, this impulse high
Which through every rootlet stirs:
Lo! the sunshine and the sky
She was made for, now are hers!
Soul, thou too art set in earth,
Heavenward through the dark to grow:
Dreamest thou of thy royal birth?
Climb! and thou shalt surely know.
Shuddering Doubt to Nature cries, —
Nature, though she smiles, is dumb, —
"How then can the dead arise?
With what body do they come?"
Lo, the unfolding mystery;
We shall bloom, some wondrous hour,
As the lily blooms, when she
Dies a bulb, to live a flower!

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