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Literary Gazette, 7th June, 1834, Page 401
The bees came every sunny noon,
And gathered golden treasure,
And with their blithe wings' lulling tune
Paid for their morning's pleasure.
And there the lovely Lily grew,
The summer's purest flower,
And many a tiny fairy knew
The shelter of its bower,
And left the perfume of her hair
Within its fragrant bosom;—
The youngest, from the midnight air,
Was pillowed in that blossom,
And breathed within its haunted cell
A charm of gentle fancies—
Such dreams and hopes as form the spell
Of early youth's romances.
That fairy charm, when it was reft,
Was in its petals sleeping;
When borne from its green home it left
Its sweet companions weeping.
