FLOWER-DE-LUCE. Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers, Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers Thou laughest at the mill, the whirr, and worry And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry, Born to the purple, born to joy and pleasance, But makest glad and radiant with thy presence The wind blows, and uplifts thy drooping banner, The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant, And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, And winged with the celestial azure, bearest Thou art the muse, who far from crowded cities O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river O flower of song, bloom on, and make for ever |