A Jonquil
A. Mary F. Robinson
1857 to 1944
Our of the place of death,
Out of the cypress shadow,
Out of sepulchral earth,
Dust the Calvary gave;
Sprang, as fragrant of breath
As any flower of the meadow,
This, with death in its birth,
Sent like speech from the grave.
So, in a world of doubt,
Love—like a flower—
Blossoms suddenly white,
Suddenly sweet and pure;
Shedding a breath about
Of new mysterious power;
Lifting a hope in the night,
Not to be told, but sure.
A. Mary F. Robinson's A Jonquil
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