There is a flower of climate rare,
That never bloomed for me,
I searched the wood, I searched the moor,
I robbed the emerald sea.
Alone upon an icy coast,
By Arctic's hem it grows,
Its beauty is intoxicant
To those who brave the snows.
But when the Bear shines clear and high
I dream of Polar night.
Wherein this wondrous flower blooms
In sheaves of rainbow light.
