Page:Voice of Flowers.pdf/17

He pluck'd the iris, deeply blue,
    The amaryllis, bright,
And stor'd their treasures through the day,
    But cast them forth at night.

He bound the water-lily white.
    Amid her lustrous hair,
But found her black and flashing eye
    Requir'd a gem more rare.

At length, beside its mantling pool,
    Majestic and serene,
He saw the proud Lobelia tower
    In beauty, like a queen.

That eve, the maiden's ebon locks
    Reveal'd its glowing power,
Amid the simple, nuptial rites
    That grac'd the chieftain's bower.

But she, who, by that stately flower,
    Her lover's preference knew.
Was doom'd, alas! in youthful bloom,
    To share its frailty, too;

For ere again its scarlet spire
    Rejoic'd in summer's eye,
She droop'd amid her forest home—
    Her fount of life was dry.