Our Lady’s Tears

 

Convallaria_majalis_—_Flora_Batava_—_Volume_v1

 

The Lily of the Valley

There is not any weed but hath its shower,
There is not any pool but hath its star;
And black and muddy though the waters are
We may not miss the glory of a flower,
And winter moons will give them magic power
To spin in cylinders of diamond spar;
And everything hath beauty near and far,
And keepeth close and waiteth on its hour!
And I, when I encounter on my road
A human soul that looketh black and grim,
Shall I more ceremonious be than God?
Shall I refuse to watch one hour with him
Who once beside our deepest woe did bud
A patient watching flower about the brim? 

George MacDonald (1824 –  1905)

 

 

 

 

 

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