Half-hid in our father's garden stands
A flower all sad and pale:
Cold winter is gone, Spring breathes o'er the lands;
But the flower always is pale —
The pale flower languisheth,
Like a bride sick unto death.

To me spake the pale flower, soft and low,
" Dear brother, to pluck me ne'er fail; "
" Nay, " said I, " pale flower, I cannot do so,
I pluck no flowers that are pale:
I seek with pain and dread,
A blossom purple-red. "

The pale flower spake, " Seek here, seek there,
Till thou art cold and dead,
Thy search is vain, thou'lt find nowhere
The flower purple-red;
But me — oh! pluck me now,
For I am ill as thou. "

Thus spake the pale flower, and pleaded so sore,
That all of a sudden, I plucked it in fear;
And that very moment my heart bled no more,
And the eyes of my soul became clear;
And through my wounded breast
Was shed angelic rest.