Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly
My soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground
Where gleamed the lilac-tinted Easter lily
Soft-scented in the air for yards around
Alone, without a hint of guardian leaf!
Just like a fragile bell of silver rime
It burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief
In the young pregnant year at Eastertime
And many thought it was a sacred sign
And some called it the resurrection flower
And I, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine
Yielding my heart unto its perfumed power