TO THE LILY OF THE VALLEY.
Reading edition
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BY PROFESSOR CAMPBELL.
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Sweet little flower,
That hang’st thy fair and modest head
Beneath the shower,
And bendest o’er thy parent bed,
As mourning for thy sisters dead—
Oh! smile again—the storm has fled.
Ah! who could break
Thy tender stem, so very fair,
So very weak—
To deck his breast, to perish there,
Beneath the coldly piercing air,
Of harsh neglect, regret, despair?
Nay, droop not so—
No ruthless hand shall touch thee here—
No, gentlest, no—
I’ll hide thee where, devoid of fear,
Thou’lt bloom, to one lone heart most dear,
Nor ruder love than mine be near.
And I will leave
All other cares, and steal to see,
At morn and eve,
Mine own lov’d flowret’s purity—
For I alone shall smile on thee,
And thou alone shall smile on me.
And when thou’rt gone
And all thy sweetness buried deep,
And I alone—
Still will I in my fond heart keep
Thy memory green, and come to weep,
Where thou, my loved one, shalt sleep.
And soon, dear flow’r,
Ah, very soon I’ll follow thee—
My little hour
Of fated life must quickly flee—
Then cold and lone my grave shall be,
Without a tear—oh! not like thee.