The Wildflower’s Song

There is a flower that blooms in strange And lonely places; it is mine, And not a flower in the whole world owes Its life to the distant sun like mine.

Oh, how it blooms in dark and dreary Hollows, bright and sweet, undimmed, Where not a human footstep wanders, But the lonely hare and the timid wild.

In the solitude it breathes, a joy That none can know but I; its life, A glimmering voice in silence, speaks To me alone of nature’s strife.

O wildflower! treasure of hidden woe, Beauty of despair, thy dusky hue And absence make thy charm, and so I love thee still, and I love but you.

• John Clare