Lilly: A Poem
The May sun sheds an amber beam,
Upon the river’s liquid plain,
But never to that glorious gleam,
Her eyes will ope again:
Sweet Lilly, come again,
Sweet Lilly, come again.
We look across the landscape wide,
Where spring bemocks the thought of pain,
And scatters charms with lavish pride;—
The vernal joy is all in vain:
Sweet Lilly, come again,
Sweet Lilly, come again.
The summer breezes lightly lift
The clustered flowers oppressed with rain,
Which fleecy cloud-sieves downward sift,—
It falls on Lilly’s form in vain:
Sweet Lilly, come again,
Sweet Lilly, come again.
Oh! can the glory of the year,
The Spring that decks the widening plain,
Thus strive to make the maid appear,
But yield the hopeless task in vain:
Sweet Lilly, come again;
Sweet Lilly, come again.
Silence!—where brighter May suns beam,
On greener hills and vales,
Bright Lilly walks, as in a dream,
Fann’d by celestial gales:—
Now, Lill! come not again!
Now, Lill! come not again.