I Walked One Spring Day, While Yet Winds Were Cold

I walked one spring day, while yet winds were cold.
Between the waning day and waxing night,
And the boughs strained and whirled in the wind's might.
I took a simple wild-flower in my hold,
And fair it was and delicate of mold,
And sweet to smell, and tremulous with light;
And something lurking in its petals white
Meant more to me than even its fragrance told.

Full long I held that flower, until one day
I came where queenliest, reddest roses grew;
Then from my hand afar the flower I threw,
Roses to gather. But, behold, this hour,
When roses and their thorn-stems strew the way,
I vainly seek for my lost woodland flower.