The Rhodora

On being asked, whence is the flower?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the Rhodora in the woods, Crowned with the purple of its own, Matching the hue of the glory it has known.

In careless solitude and with no other Than the unkind wind, the lonely flowers, The Rhodora’s spirit does not wane; Yet timid as a star, Through leafless forest boughs within.

If sages could see the rose bloom, It will not vanish, it will come to light, The blossoms surely seem so rare: Seen only by those who care To seek them in love’s secret sight.

When I say all that flowers survive, A joy in nature’s primal grace, With Gods and angels at their side, The Rhodora lives in every heart Time cannot wither or divide.

• Ralph Waldo Emerson