Flower-De-Luce

Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers,

Or solitary mere,

Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers

Its waters to the weir!

Born in the purple, born to joy and pleasance,

Thou dost not toil nor spin,

But makest glad and radiant with thy presence

The meadow and the lin.

O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river

Linger to kiss thy feet!

O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever

The world more fair and sweet.