White Water-Lily.... Purity

The White Water-Lily is the Queen of the Waves, and reigns sole sovereign over the streams; and it was a species of Water-Lily which the old Egyptians and ancient Indians worshipped—the most beautiful object that was held sacred in their superstitious creed, and one which we cannot look upon even now without feeling a delight mingled with reverence. No flower looks more lovely than this “Lady of the Lake,” resting her crowned head on a green throne of velvet, and looking down into the depths of her own sky-reflecting realms, watching the dance, as her attendant water-nymphs keep time to the rocking of the ripples, and the dreamy swaying of the trailing water streams.

Miller.

Thine is a face to look upon and pray
That a pure spirit keep thee—I would meet
With one so gentle by the streams away,
Living with nature; keeping thy pure feet
For the unfingered moss, and for the grass
Which leaneth where the gentle waters pass.
The autumn leaves should sigh thee to thy sleep;
And the capricious April, coming on,
Awake thee like a flower; and stars should keep
A vigil o’er thee like Endymion;
And thou for very gentleness shouldst weep
As dews of the night’s quietness come down.

Willis.

Oh, come to the river’s rim, come with us there,
For the White Water-Lily is wondrous fair,
With her large broad leaves on the stream afloat,
Each one a capacious fairy-boat.
The swan among flowers! How stately ride
Her snow-white leaves on the glittering tide!
And the Dragon-fly gallantly stays to sip
A kiss of dew from her goblet’s lip.

Anon.

The Lily on the water sleeping,
Enwreathed with pearl, and bossed with gold,
An emblem is, my love, of thee:
But when she like a nymph is peeping,
To watch her sister-buds unfold,
White shouldered on the flowery lea,
Gazing about in sweet amazement,
Thy image, from the vine-clad casement,
Seems looking out, my love, on me.

Miller.

Little streams have flowers a many,
Beautiful and fair as any;
Typha strong, and green bur reed,
Willow herb with cotton seed,
Arrow head with eye of jet,
And the Water-Violet;
There the flowering Rush you meet,
And the plumy meadow sweet,
And in places deep and stilly
Marble-like, the Water-Lily.

Mrs. Howitt.