56 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
But what if the stormy cloud should come, 
And ruffle the silver sea ? 
Would he turn his eye from the distant 9ky, 
To smile on a thing like thee ? 
O, no ! fair Lily, he will not send 
One ray from his far-off throne ; 
The winds shall blow and the waves shall flow, 
And thou wilt be left alone. 
There is not a leaf on the mountain-top, 
Nor a drop of evening dew, 
Nor a golden sand on the sparkling shore, 
Nor a pearl in the waters blue, 
That he has not cheer’d with his fickle smile, 
And warm’d with his faithless beam,— 
And will he be true to a pallid flower, 
That floats on the quiet stream ? 
Alas, for the Lily ! she would not heed, 
But turn’d to the skies afar, 
And bared her breast to the trembling ray 
That shot from the rising star; 
The cloud came over the darken’d sky, 
And over the waters wide ; 
She look’d in vain through the beating rain, 
And sank in the stormy tide. 
