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Caroline Fry (Wilson) (Каролина Фрай (Уилсон)) The Lily Look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine. Psalm lxxx. 14. The spot where I loiter'd was lonely and wild, The bleak winds of heaven were blowing, When I look'd on a lily of loveliest hue, That alone and unshelter'd was growing. What once was a garden, deserted and waste, Was now but the wild nettle's bed; The hedge-row, neglected and scatter'd to earth, Forbade not the passenger's tread. The thorn and the thistle disputed the soil Where fairest of flowers had blown; The hand that had planted them left them to die, And the lily was blooming alone. Sweet flower, I whisper'd, so frail as thou art, This waste is no garden for thee, That form which the rude wind so ruthless has torn, Some eye once delighted to see. It watch'd thee at morning, it watch'd thee at eve, And wept when it saw thee decline, And sought for the insect that rankles the bud, And forbade it to nestle in thine. But now it forgets thee, and leaves thee alone. To dwell with the poisonous weed; The thorn is thy fellow, the thistle thy mate, Thou wilt perish, and no one will heed. And one there is like thee—the cherish'd, the lov'd - Ah! have we no tear for her fate? The foot of the stranger has pass'd o'er her soil, And the infidel sits in her gate. The eye that had watch'd her, the hand that had rear'd, In bitter displeasure averted, Has left her the meanest, the vilest of earth, An alien, alone and deserted. Disown'd in her birth-place, disown'd where she dwells, A stranger where'er she appears, The heart that can melt for all sorrow beside, Refuses its pity to hers. Great Father of Mercies! remember thy word; O hasten, and visit this vine! The scorn of the Gentile has crush'd it to earth; 'Twas unfruitful, - but still it is thine! Tis that thou hadst planted, 'tis that thou hadst rear'd: Have pity, and hasten the hour, When the dews of thy love shall be fresh on her leaf, And thy sunbeam be bright on her flow'r: The hour when they, who pass over her now With careless and pitiless foot, Shall come with delight to repose in her shade, And gratefully take of her fruit. Caroline Fry (Wilson)'s other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1210 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |