From “Hellebores Throughout History” in Hellebores: A Comprehensive Guide by C. Colston Burrell and Judith Knott Tyler:
“Throughout history, hellebores and humans have been intertwined…. In Europe and America, long before they were valued for their ornamental qualities, hellebores were in demand for their medicinal prowess. The botanical name Helleborus may derive from the Greek roots helein, which means to kill, and bora, food. The literal translation is ‘food that kills.’
“The ancients knew the black hellebore, believed variously to be H. niger, H. foetidus, H. cyclophyllus, or perhaps H. viridis….
“Under the feudal system, plants were grown as crops, not only for food, but also for medicines, materials for clothing, and for various other uses, with the majority of the rural population foraging to collect their potherbs and medicaments. Hellebores, as with other plants used for medicinal purposes, were wild crafted or kept in apothecary gardens. In The Herball (1633), John Gerard noted, ‘We have them all in our London gardens.’ Pleasure gardens were the provinces of the aristocracy — they were at least confined to the wealthiest homes, and even these concentrated on useful plants. Growing a plant for purely ornamental purposes might have been incomprehensible to the commoner. But in time, hellebores and other plants grew in aesthetic importance as people began to heal their souls as well as their bodies….
“These days, hellebores are the height of fashion. Why? Because they are remarkably beautiful. They open their nodding flowers in the bitter winter chill when few other plants dare to greet the new year. Beauty aside, they are tough, low-maintenance plants, and they are long-lived….
“Hybrid garden hellebores (H. × hybridus) have attained a level of perfection never before dreamed possible. Gone are the muddy mauves and greenish whites of Beebe Wilder’s day. Through breeding programs in England, Holland, and the United States, today’s hybrids offer a level of color saturation and form not seen just a few years ago. Hellebores surely occupy a preeminent place in American and European horticulture.”
From “Summer Wish” by Louise Bogan in An Anthology of Famous English and American Poetry, edited and introduced by William Rose Benet and Conrad Aiken:
The year’s begun; the share’s again in the earth.
Speak out the wish like music, that has within it
The horn, the string, the drum pitched deep as grief.
Speak it like laughter, outward. O brave, O generous
Laughter that pours from the well of the body and draws
The bane that cheats the heart: aconite, nightshade,
Hellebore, hyssop, rue, — symbols and poisons
We drink, in fervor, thinking to gain thereby
Some difference, some distinction.
Speak it, as that man said, as though the earth spoke,
By the body of rock, shafts of heaved strata, separate,
Together.
Though it be but for sleep at night,
Speak out the wish.
The vine we pitied is in leaf; the wild
Honeysuckle blows by the granite.
Hello!
This is the second of three posts with photos of Hellebores from Oakland Cemetery, taken by The Photographer in February 2026. The first post is Hellebore Hybrids (1 of 3).
The plants are Helleborus x hybridus or Helleborus orientalis, most likely the former, given the many Hellebore variations that Helleborus x hybridus encompasses. Common names — many with cultural significance — include Christmas Rose, Lenten Rose, or Winter Rose, depending on the species encountered, the historical era, or the geographic location.
With this post, we advance from the visually simple white or lightly tinted flowers of the previous series to some with more prominent veining, as well as hybrids with distinctive alternating bands of purple and pink colors. The three images at the end of this post demonstrate that genetic variation quite precisely, where there are defined boundaries between the two colors — an effect likely attributable to extensive cross-breeding in the latter part of the twentieth century. Yet compared with some of the other variations among these photos, you can almost see the potential for this style to emerge, as if the genes expressing the colored bands are present but not fully developed until we get to those last three photos.
Since my knowledge of the plants was somewhat limited, everything I’ve learned about them in the last few days feels like a surprising discovery. The history I excerpted at the top of this post — from Hellebores: A Comprehensive Guide — is assembled from the opening and closing paragraphs of the book’s detailed historical essay on Hellebores, from its ancient medicinal use through its expansion into European and American gardens from the sixteenth century on. That history is noteworthy in that the authors link Hellebores to various modern eras — such as the Victorian era and the post-World War II era — and provide comparisons between the plant’s use and presence on the two continents separately. If you’d like to read the whole thing yourself, the book is also available on the Internet Archive to check out, at Hellebores: A Comprehensive Guide.
There are also about 1,200 books of poetry on the Internet Archive’s Books to Borrow site that mention Hellebores by either its botanical or common names — a number not quite as substantial as flowers that are frequently featured in poetry like irises, daffodils, or tulips, but a respectable number nonetheless. These poems, often as not, refer to the plant’s darker characteristics — like the stanzas from the poem “Summer Wish” by Louise Bogan above — because its toxicity had been so well established in classical and medieval culture. The poem is delightfully long and presented as a conversation between two voices discussing the arrival of spring and describing the landscape’s preparations for summer. The full poem — originally written in the 1920s — is available here.
Thanks for reading and taking a look!
