Page:Poems Cook.djvu/367

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LADY JUNE.
Ye who are born to be weary and worn
With labour or sorrow, with passion or pain,
Come out for an hour, there's balm in my bower,
To lighten and burnish your tear-rusted chain.

Oh! come with me, wherever you be,
And Beauty and Love on your spirits shall fall;
The rich and the hale, the poor and the pale,
For Lady June scatters her joys for all.


THE LILY AND THE STREAM.
A lily cup was growing where the streamlet tide was flowing,
And rich with grace and beauty there it bent;
And pass'd the whole day long in dancing to the song,
Which gurgling ripples murmur'd as they went.
Though rush and weed were there, the place was fresh and fair,
And wavelets kiss'd the Lily's tender leaf;
The Lily woo'd the water, and drank the draught it brought her,
And never wore a tint of blighting grief.

A strong hand came and took the Lily from the brook,
And placed it in a painted vase of clay;
But, ah it might not be, and sad it was to see
The suffering Lily fade and pine away.
The fountain-drops of wealth ne'er nursed it into health;
It never danced beneath the lighted dome;
But wofully it sigh'd for the streamlet's gushing tide,
And droop'd in pain to miss its far-off home.

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