The life of plants, rising through dim sweet states,
Cloisters the rich love-secret more and more,
Gathers it jealously within the gates
Of the hushed heart; but, mightier than before,
The mystery prevails and overpowers
Stem, leaf, and petal. So the passion lies
In this tranced flowery being which is ours
Like to a hidden wound; yet softly dyes
With dolorous beauty all the stuff of life,
Each dream and vision and desire subduing
With muted pulses, that great counter-strife
Of soul with its own rhythmic pangs imbuing.
Deny it and disdain it. Lo! there beat
Red stigmata in heart and hands and feet.