With April Arbutus, To A Friend

Fairer than we the woods of May,     Yet sweeter blossoms do not grow     Than these we send you from our snow,     Cramped are their stems by winter's cold,     And stained their leaves with last year's mould;     For these are flowers which fought their way     Through ice and cold in sun and air,     With all a soul might do and dare,     Hope, that outlives a world's decay,     Enduring faith that will not die,     And love that gives, not knowing why,     Therefore we send them unto you;     And if they are not all your due,     Once they have looked into your face     Your graciousness will give them place.     You know they were not born to bloom     Like roses in a crowded room;     For though courageous they are shy,     Loving but one sweet hand and eye.     Ah, should you take them to the rest,     The warmth, the shelter of your breast,     Since on the bleak     And frozen bosom of our snows     They dared to smile, on yours who knows     But that they might not dare to speak!