Poems (Cook)/The Lily and the Stream

by Eliza Cook

THE LILY AND THE STREAM.

A lily cup was growing where the streamlet tide was flowing,
 And rich with grace and beauty there it bent;
And pass'd the whole day long in dancing to the song,
 Which gurgling ripples murmur'd as they went.
Though rush and weed were there, the place was fresh and fair,
 And wavelets kiss'd the Lily's tender leaf;
The Lily woo'd the water, and drank the draught it brought her,
 And never wore a tint of blighting grief.

A strong hand came and took the Lily from the brook,
 And placed it in a painted vase of clay;
But, ah it might not be, and sad it was to see
 The suffering Lily fade and pine away.
The fountain-drops of wealth ne'er nursed it into health;
 It never danced beneath the lighted dome;
But wofully it sigh'd for the streamlet's gushing tide,
 And droop'd in pain to miss its far-off home.

Now human hearts be true, and tell me are not you
 Too often taken like the gentle flower;
And do ye never grieve, when Fortune bids ye leave
 Affection's Life-stream for a gilded bower?
Oh! many a one can look far back on some sweet brook
 That fed their soul-bloom, fresh, and pure, and shining;
And many a one will say, some painted vase of clay
 Has held their spirit, like the Lily, pining.