My way was cold, and dark, and lonely,
The winds were keen, the clouds did lower,
And by my side stepped Sorrow only,
Until I found a little flower.
It grew alone in rare completeness,
Where no rude passer-by could seek;
Soft summer rains had given it sweetness,
Warm summer suns had decked its cheek.
And Sorrow fled as I grew stronger—
That flower and I no more should part—
And winds and clouds I fear no longer;
I wear that flower on my heart!