 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
OUR LADY OF THE LILIES.
Our Lady of the lilies—
The valley-lilies fair!
Her brow was pure as any babe's,
And silvery-white her hair.
The valley-lilies fair!
Her brow was pure as any babe's,
And silvery-white her hair.
The snows of ninety winters
Had fallen upon her head;
Within her clear, benignant eyes
A history sweet you read.
Had fallen upon her head;
Within her clear, benignant eyes
A history sweet you read.
She walked among the flowers
That her own hands had sown;
With lilies-of-the-valley white
Her paths were overgrown.
That her own hands had sown;
With lilies-of-the-valley white
Her paths were overgrown.
Through the old, grassy garden
Year after year they stole;
Their fragrance seemed the very breath
Of our dear Lady's soul.
Year after year they stole;
Their fragrance seemed the very breath
Of our dear Lady's soul.
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She gave away her lilies
Freely as wild birds sing;
They bore to sick and lonely ones
The first glad hint of spring.
Freely as wild birds sing;
They bore to sick and lonely ones
The first glad hint of spring.
Our Lady of the lilies
Loved other blossoms, too;
She was our Sweet-Pea Grandmamma,—
The dearest flower she knew.
Loved other blossoms, too;
She was our Sweet-Pea Grandmamma,—
The dearest flower she knew.
With earliest heats of summer
Came forth the sweet-pea's blush,
Pink as the soft tint of her cheek,
Or sunset's last, faint flush.
Came forth the sweet-pea's blush,
Pink as the soft tint of her cheek,
Or sunset's last, faint flush.
And, clipping bud and tendril
In morning's dewiest hours,
Her thoughts on lovely errands ran:—
“Now, who shall have my flowers?”
In morning's dewiest hours,
Her thoughts on lovely errands ran:—
“Now, who shall have my flowers?”
Surely her love was in them,
Like sun and dew and air;
For sweet-peas wonderful as hers
Blossomed not anywhere.
Like sun and dew and air;
For sweet-peas wonderful as hers
Blossomed not anywhere.
They crowded through the fence-rail,
They sprang to meet her touch,
All winged and waiting for a flight:
Where shall we now find such?
They sprang to meet her touch,
All winged and waiting for a flight:
Where shall we now find such?
And oh! what fairer blossoms
Can grow around her feet,
In that new country where she walks,
Within heaven's climate sweet?
Can grow around her feet,
In that new country where she walks,
Within heaven's climate sweet?
I think they must have brought her
The dear, old-fashioned flowers,
Before her heart felt quite at home
Even in the angels' bowers.
The dear, old-fashioned flowers,
Before her heart felt quite at home
Even in the angels' bowers.
Our Lady of the lilies
Even there her name may be;
While here fond memories cling to her
As Grandmamma Sweet-Pea.
Even there her name may be;
While here fond memories cling to her
As Grandmamma Sweet-Pea.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |