OUT 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. |