The Woodspurge

The woodspurge has a wonderful head, It is a little pin-head red; The green leaves round it are thick and spread; And it crowns itself over the wood. And like a challenge to the light Its seed keeps pulsing right and white, And the stem is like a sword, And the thorn is a blood-red light.

And the woodspurge is like a hand, Gripping the world till it understands; And the seed has a tremulous power, As it stretches there through the silent hours.

And I think, as my mind’s eye runs, Of how the woodspurge hums and shuns The while the scarlet morphine coils Its glories over the smooth green soils.

Thus it strikes me, undesired, That the might of the seed is knowing and wise; For love’s strong passion must not be tired; And the heart-worn dust is gold in disguise.

• Dante Gabriel Rossetti