THERE grows a white, white flower 
 By the wild Alps of romance; 
And who would reach its dainty leaves 
 Takes life and death in chance. 
 
There is a dark, dark cavern 
 Where a woman goes alone, 
Takes hope and peril in her hand 
 And fights Death on his throne. 
 
To our heart?s breathless calling 
 She comes from the cavern wild, 
Holding in her exhausted arms 
 A small, white, blossoming child.