From “Zephyranthes” (Zephyr Flower)” in The English Flower Garden by William Robinson:
“This beautiful flower has been termed the Crocus of America. There are about fourteen species — low-growing bulbous plants, with grassy leaves, which appear in spring with or before the Crocus-like flowers, which are white or rosy pink, large and handsome. Zephyranthes require rest during winter, and at that season are best kept dry. In spring they should be planted out in the full sun in sandy soil….
“Z. candida (Swamp Zephyr-flower): The hardiest and best of the group, making tufts of evergreen Rush-like leaves, and glistening white flowers with golden stamens, opening flat in the sunshine from August to October. The buds are prettily shaded with rose on the outside. In warm sandy soils the bulbs do well, planted like the Belladonna Lily in narrow borders against a greenhouse or any place — even a gravel walk — where they get a thorough baking and plenty of moisture from time to time….
“Cool and heavy soils do not suit the plant at all, nor does it seem to do so well in the west as in the drier climate of E. and S.E. Britain, often failing to flower when it does not die out. In the light soils of Surrey and at Kew it is charming, ripening seeds which germinate and grow readily, spreading into groups of beautiful effect as an edging to warm borders, or even as a carpet plant. Z. citrina is a scarcer kind allied to candida, but distinct in form and in its golden flowers. A cross between these two species has given Z. ajax, which is like candida in character and time of bloom, but quite new in its soft yellow flowers, over 2 inches across, prettily flushed with rose on the outside.”
From “Dear Atamasco Lily” in My Dear, Dear Stagger Grass: Poems by Susan Meyers:
Nothing else in the swamp rises beyond
the surprise of you
and your sweet repetition.
Your boldness I’d expect of the cottonmouth
sunning by the bald cypress,
your plenitude matched only
by last year’s
tent caterpillars, whose droppings
when they fell ticked a steady shower.
And what of the music in your name,
hiding your poison?
You are danger, deep-throated cup
lipping the stippled light,
brightening the leaf mold.
Dear red-stained lily. Rain lily.
Zephyr lily. Dear fairy lily.
Wild Easter lily.
My dear, dear stagger grass.
Hello!
It seems that there are always new plants and flowers to discover.
In the first three photos below, you can see a row of Zephyr Lilies — some of each of the color combinations (white, yellow, and white with pink swatches) described in the quotation from The English Flower Garden at the top of this post. There are several similar patches of Zephyr Lilies at Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, and — having walked by them previously when they weren’t in bloom, thinking they were clumps of grass to be stepped over — I caught these at the right time when plenty of the flowers had just opened. This is the first of two posts with photographs of these diminutive delights.
Zephyr Lilies are members of the plant genus Zephyranthes — whose name sounds like it might refer to a Greek god, because (like lots of plants) it does. I got this from Wikipedia (of course), where I learned that Zephyranthes is derived from the name of Zephyrus, the god of the west wind combined with anthos, a word for flower. The name may reflect an observation of the plant’s behavior (and two of its common names, Rain Flower and Rain Lily), as it’s known to often bloom en-masse shortly after rainstorms, especially (though this may be speculation) those driven by a west wind. Coincidentally, I photographed these a couple of days after some thunderstorms, where the clouds still remained and gave me that favorite kind of filtered sunlight I like for flower photography.
I was amused to find the poem I excerpted above (from My Dear, Dear Stagger Grass: Poems by Susan Meyers), because it includes just about every common name for Zephyr Lilies, including Atamasco Lily, Rain Lily, Fairy Lily, Swamp Lily, and Wild Easter Lily. But I didn’t understand the references to “hiding your poison” and “stagger grass” so once again I asked my imaginary research assistant ClaudeAI for a little help, and here’s what it told me:
Based on the botanical characteristics of the Atamasco Lily (Zephyranthes atamasco), I can provide some insights into the poem’s references:
“Hiding your poison” likely refers to the toxic properties of Zephyranthes bulbs. Like many plants in the Amaryllidaceae family, these lilies contain alkaloids that are poisonous if ingested. This toxicity is a defense mechanism that protects the plant from herbivores.
“Stagger grass” is a traditional folk name for Zephyranthes, derived from the plant’s toxic effects. If livestock consume the bulbs, they can experience symptoms like disorientation or stumbling — hence “stagger.” This name appears in some ethnobotanical literature about plants native to the southeastern United States.
The poem beautifully captures the lily’s unexpected emergence in swampy environments, using multiple common names that reflect its various regional and cultural identifications. The references to cottonmouth snakes, bald cypress, and leaf mold create a vivid ecosystem context for the plant.
The multiple names in the poem — Rain Lily, Zephyr Lily, Fairy Lily, Wild Easter Lily — illustrate the rich vernacular tradition of plant naming, each name capturing a different aspect of the plant’s character or habitat.
So it turns out “Stagger Grass” is yet another common name for this plant. And should you ever encounter a herd of cows or mob of sheeps stumbling about in a field: look around for some Zephyr Lilies; the livestock may have chawed too many bulbs!
Thanks for reading and taking a look!
