OH! beautiful thou art, Thou sculpture-like and stately river-queen! Crowning the depths, as with the light serene Of a pure heart. Bright lily of the wave! Rising in fearless grace with every swell, Thou seem'st as if a spirit meekly brave Dwelt in thy cell: Lifting alike thy head Of placid beauty, feminine yet free, Whether with foam or pictured azure spread The waters be. What is like thee, fair flower, The gentle and the firm! thus bearing up To the blue sky that alabaster cup, As to the shower? Oh! love is most like thee, The love of woman! quivering to the blast Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast, Midst life's dark sea. And faith -- oh, is not faith Like thee, too, lily! springing into light, Still buoyantly, above the billows' might, Through the storm's breath? Yes! linked with such high thought, Flower! let thine image in my bosom lie; Till something there of its own purity And peace be wrought -- Something yet more divine Than the clear, pearly, virgin lustre shed Forth from thy breast upon the river's bed, As from a shrine. |