Down in a marsh by the water's brink
I found a bloom of the palest pink;
And I watched it close and loved it well,
For it touched my heart with a mystic spell.

Till at last I plucked the flower fair
And bore it home, and summoned there
A friend, to give me its proper name,
Where it lived and its right to fame.

He told me then. But it sounded harsh;
In my ignorance by the lonesome marsh
I had called it Child-of-my-Soul , and smiled
To think of its beauty growing wild.

He told me more; but every word
Was wisdom such as I wished unheard.