144 
Floral Poetry. 
LILIES OF THE VALLEY. 
Y OU dream not, as the soft wind stirs 
Those little fairy bells, 
How to my heart sad pleasure comes, 
Each cup a story tells. 
They bring before my eyes a form 
As fragile and as sweet; 
I seem again to hear the fall 
Of her light tripping feet. 
Once more, as in the olden days, 
Her small hand clasped in mine, 
I wander through cool mossy paths 
Beneath the fragrant pine; 
Around that fair young head I bind 
Wreaths of the fragrant flowers ; 
And silently we watch the stars, 
And pass away glad hours. 
The morning dawn, the sultry noon, 
The hours of calm midnight, 
Still found us ever side by side, 
Still found my flower bright. 
Trembling, I gaze in those deep eyes, 
So full of earnest love ; 
No taint of earth, as years passed on, 
Could stain my snowy dove. 
