 | A Flight of Fancies |  |
143
THE DISAPPOINTMENT
Unless my Lily blossoms soon
I mean to mope and cry.
However blue and gold the day,
She dawdles hour by hour away;
I can't imagine why.
I mean to mope and cry.
However blue and gold the day,
She dawdles hour by hour away;
I can't imagine why.
As Mary's darling now has bloomed,
And Christopher's as well,
It grieves me more than Mother knows
When petals simply won't unclose
For me to praise and smell.
And Christopher's as well,
It grieves me more than Mother knows
When petals simply won't unclose
For me to praise and smell.
Because her buds are rather brown
I fear that she is ill.
Do Lilies sicken for the Mumps,
Or any other kind of lumps?
Or suffer from a chill?
I fear that she is ill.
Do Lilies sicken for the Mumps,
Or any other kind of lumps?
Or suffer from a chill?
I'm puzzled. There is something wrong,
But what, I cannot guess.
The Gardener only rubs his chin
And screws his nose when I begin
To speak of my distress.
But what, I cannot guess.
The Gardener only rubs his chin
And screws his nose when I begin
To speak of my distress.
144
It's usual for my Uncle John
To give me good advice,
But yesterday he said, “My Pet,
If Lilies fail, there's Mignonette,
Who's really rather nice.”
To give me good advice,
But yesterday he said, “My Pet,
If Lilies fail, there's Mignonette,
Who's really rather nice.”
I know there is; and Charity,
And Thrift, and London Pride,
And Columbine, who dearly loves
To have a dovecot full of doves
That mustn't leave her side.
And Thrift, and London Pride,
And Columbine, who dearly loves
To have a dovecot full of doves
That mustn't leave her side.
But early in the Spring I chose
This Lily-plant instead,
And kissed her stem a hundred times
And told her all the pretty rhymes
I carry in my head.
This Lily-plant instead,
And kissed her stem a hundred times
And told her all the pretty rhymes
I carry in my head.
I shan't desert her just because
She has a secret pain.
The promise made, to love her best,
However beautiful the rest,
I whisper once again.
She has a secret pain.
The promise made, to love her best,
However beautiful the rest,
I whisper once again.
Unless she blossoms very soon,
I mean to mope and cry.
Though warm and blue and gold the day,
She dawdles hour by hour away;
Can no one tell me why?
I mean to mope and cry.
Though warm and blue and gold the day,
She dawdles hour by hour away;
Can no one tell me why?
| A Flight of Fancies | |