In God’s Gardens (1912)

O mist-blown Lily of the north,

A-bending southward in thy bloom,

And bringing beauty silver sown

And pale blue radiance of snows—

O fair white ily, bowing low,

Above the dream-swept poppy’s mouth,

Athwart the black and crimson South—

Why dost thou fear—why dos thou fear?

Lo! sense its sleep-sown subtle breath,

Where wheel in passioned whirl above

All lingering, luring love of love—

All perfume born of dole and death.

Cold ghost-wreathed Lily of the North,

When once thy dawning darkens there,

Come then with sunlight-sifted hair

And seek the haunting heaven of Night.

Where, over moon-mad shadows whirled,

The star-tanned mists dim swathe the sky

In phantasy to dream and die—

A wild sweet wedding of the World.

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Citation: Du Bois, W.E.B. 1912. “In God’s Gardens.” The Crisis. 3(6):235.