Thursday, 26 June 2014


My wellspring of beauty she had been,
a bud, its petalled glow ne'er to be seen.
Blossom, its fragrance the world denied,
shall tranquil in stellar meadows abide.

Blush of her cheek death's slumber belies,
cold, in eternal chrysalis she lies.
"Here, 'mong men, your wings ne'er did unfold,
thro' the ether glide blithesome on wings bold."

A voice, its music so seldom heard,
shall chant His glory, sweet as a songbird.
Lips, oft rendered mute, uttered soul's scars,
anon shall she speak of her dreams to stars.

Little feet, afeared of earthly paths,
shall joyful traverse empyrean swaths,
child, of mother's warm embrace bereft,
shall in celestial arms be loving blest.

Her fledgling heart, so tender bereaved,
shall His light ease, ne'er more to be aggrieved,
her spirit seldom solacing knew,
Seraphim's song shall its radiance renew.

Her flame, quenched ere it could brilliant blaze,
henceforth shall the Infinite ceaseless praise.
"Hallowed Silence your spirit restore,
in Heaven's Gardens shall you bloom e'er more."

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: Une Petite Fille
Artist: William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Wednesday, 25 June 2014


A beauteous sorceress on Inishmore dwelled,
flora and fauna for their welfare she spelled.
In tawny eyes blazed the fire of the sun,
her unbridled wrath could the strongest man stun.

All day she'd wander o'er hummocks and thro' vales,
soldier on, defiant of rain, snow and gales.
‘Twas as if her great strength from Nature she drew,
subsisting on berries, pure nectar and dew.

The villagers, they'd flee when e'er she appeared,
heedless of her goodwill, her curses they feared.
"Ah, 'tis centuries now, she ne'er seems to age,
'tis rumoured she doth with Dis Pater engage."

“Her true name unknown, her origins obscure,
Kyna, the wise one, hath had much to endure.
‘Tis said she calleth the old Cailleach mother,
Scarce doth she utter a word to another!” 

Clad in a mantlet the hue of fresh spring grass,
blossoms in hair, she seemed a gleeful young lass.
But one look in her amber eyes and you’d know,
of wanton vileness she was an ardent foe.

She’d the warmth of sunshine, the cool of a lake,
the touch of an angel, the bite of a snake.
The men, though her radiant beauty did admire,
ne’er looked her way for fear of rousing her ire.

To all guileless hearts she appeared kind and wise,
the children, they swore they spied love in her eyes,
their infant worries and hurts she’d tender soothe,
blooming she'd seem, as she rejoiced in their youth.

Her stance e'er watchful, her eyes pools of deep gold,
tireless, feathered, nightly vigils she’d hold,
as with shape-shifting Gwydion she conspir'd,
'twas no wonder not a soul her form espied.

Where malice were extant she'd the pastures blight,
the brutal she'd cause to lie sleepless all night,
where infants were battered the harvest she’d curse,
the brigand she’d compel to enflame his purse.

Yet, did those sinners their trespasses lament,
spells of blessing she’d chant, their fortunes augment.
Cattle and farm folk she’d bless ere fields were tilled,
sing hymns to Brighid when granaries were filled.

At first point of Aries she’d Eostre invoke,
gather with spirits 'neath the great sacred oak,
in the gloaming before a bonfire dance,
as 'round her little woodland creatures would prance.

And so she continued to bestow her grace,
on every soul that virtuous paths did trace.
To this day she lives there, say legends of yore,
yonder, on the charming isle of Inishmore.

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum


Artist: Gaston Bussiere

Tuesday, 24 June 2014


In the dappled light of yonder woods,
'mong show'rs of violet wisteria hoods,
'mid bright clusters of primrose pale,
on oceans of love we first did sail.

All that Spring did I walk on air,
wearing clouds of sunshine in my hair,
of joy e’er after did we dream,
to the sparkling music of the stream.

Thy rhymes did doves in blue skies trace,
long would I lie there, in thy embrace.
Tales we would tell the sweet summer breeze,
verse thou wouldst compose beneath the trees.

Ere long did wanderlust take hold,
want of adventure, ambitions bold,
thy cherished visions ne’er would I thwart,
to this alone would thee I exhort.

Go, seek thy fortunes where thou must,
thy troth to me thou wouldst keep, I trust.
Come home to me in early Spring,
bring thou, if thou willst, my wedding ring.

E’er shall I await thy return,
ardent suitors I gladly shall spurn.
"Tis thou who hast my own heart’s key,
happy be, and safe, wait thou for me."

Spring did come, now Summer is gone,
Autumn endeth, t'would be Winter anon.
Yon riv’r my message shall bear to thee,
its grassy banks our true love did see.

This, I promise, my sacred truth,
when Nature weareth her vesture of youth,
'tis there shall I bide, ‘mong the flow'rs,
coiffed in blossom crown of pale gold stars.

© 2014 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Artist: Sir Frank Dicksee

Saturday, 21 June 2014


Midsummer's eve they covert appear
'pon sylvan hilltops from far and near,
unbeknownst to human, bird or beast,
for to assemble fair Áine's feast.

Diviners, sorcerers, radiant robed,
bearing gilded sceptres brightly lobed,
speak incantations salutory,
extol Summer in all her glory.

Gathered 'round fires this hallowed eve,
wreaths of St. John's Wort the Druids weave,
'neath the ancient oak an altar raise,
bestrew marigolds, chant Nature's praise.

Prayers they softly recite, heads bowed low,
flames the night bathe in a golden glow,
dragons, apparitions keep at bay,
evil spells cause to vanish away.

At dawn Étaín her first grace bestows,
the firmament arcs, as the day grows,
at zenith the shrine sacred kindles,
till eventide her light ne'er dwindles. 

"Brightest sun of this most blessed year,
longest day of light, laughter and cheer,
resplendent Goddess, the harvest bless,
banish from our domain all distress."

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: Megan Manske

Friday, 20 June 2014


A long time ago in the days of yore,
as Spring her many-hued splendour wore,
a lone woodsman in a leaf-ed glade sat,
when hark! he heard a resounding splat! 

He turned around and who should he see?

A little fey girl no high'r than his knee!
“Oh, wee one! What d'you do here alone?
Yer hair's all awry, yer chilled to the bone!”

“Alone I'm not, I'm the child of the glade,

my mother she be, for a father I prayed.
'Tis you who now must take me home,
'tis lonely I get here, late, in the gloam.”

"Besides, mother bids me live ‘mong men,

learn your ways of laughter, love and pen,
Her ambrosial gifts shall I bring by and by,
Her wisdom and counsel for you apply."

As years went by into a beauty she grew,

ev’ry tree and bird her healing song knew.
One touch of her hand would mend ev’ry pain,
"Bless you, heal you", her constant refrain.

In her robe milky white, dark locks in braids,

her radiant smile, envy of all the maids,
crowned in white daisies and purple heather,
armfuls of blossoms and herbs she'd gather.

Potions, infusions, she'd brew all night,

give thanks to the sun at morning light.
Her elixirs the ailing to health restored,
her heart with others' in perfect accord.

On nights when the moon was full and bright,

in the glade she’d dance, a swaying sprite,
all around her a fulgent purple haze,
in wonder would the wood elves gaze.

And so she acquired her blessed name,

Violet, part faerie-child, part mortal dame,
Friend to all that lived and breathed,
Guardian, who others’ sufferings eased.

One Spring, as snowdrops began to bloom,

filling the woods with their sweet perfume,
she heard the glade's mellifluous call,
Mother's sweet voice her heart enthralled.

Jubilant she floated, deep in a trance,

to the sacred glade where faeries dance,
where oft on maternal bosom she’d lain,
and thereafter never was seen again.

Legends tell one of an evergreen tree,

its violaceous flowers all year you’d see,
where tormented hearts their sorrows laid,
there, in the glorious, rapturous Glade.

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: A Nymph in the Forest
Artist: Charles Amable Lenoir

Thursday, 19 June 2014


"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may"
so the great poet Herrick did say,
but I’d not my lot with thine cast,
young love's ardour, I fear, would not last.

Thou wouldst propose on bended knee,
yet, in thy heart, wouldst thou fain be free.
Desist, for thou art a mere lad!
No taste of misfortune hast thou had.

Lips with ease such tenderness form
when the days be clear, clement and warm.
Lasses smile, enamoured of thee,
thine eyes aglow with rapture I see.

Eighteen Summers have we yet seen,
the ways of our world would we still glean,
mine own heart would I nearer know,
in mind and soul would I further grow.

Tho' longing leave thy brow forlorn,
Spring's passion by Autumn will be gone,
a passing whim, a mere caprice,
for naught would I forfeit my heart's peace.

With sweetest yearning tho' thou gaze,
precious lad, I be wise to youths' ways,
this bloom wouldst thou bend to thy will,
flit away when thou hast had thy fill.

Sing me thy airs, speak thy pen's art,
lament not the hours we pass apart,
steal a kiss and my cheek caress,
Not all of me shalt thou yet possess.

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum


Artist: Élisabeth Sonrel

Wednesday, 18 June 2014


There, as children we played
There, our hearts' secrets stayed
There, our treasures we displayed
There, in the shade of the laburnum.

There, for true love we prayed

There, sweet messages conveyed
There, the future we surveyed
There, in the shade of the laburnum.

There, he stuck flowers in your braid

There, silken spring garlands swayed
There, tearful farewells dismayed
There, in the shade of the laburnum

There, your death my heart flayed

There, my courage decayed
There, broken-hearted I strayed
There, to the shade of the laburnum.

There, now our children play

There, your old dolls they lay
There, our spirits would stay
Forever, in the shade of 
the laburnum.

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source:


Columbine and Ivorine mirthful laugh,

starlings their wagtail brethren carefree chaff,
bees totter, from fulsome feasts befuddled,
babes in mellow sunshine sport untroubled.

All, save I, Summer's sweet delights savour,

the rain alone would my unrest favour,
doleful I ache for my dearest at sea,
this foregone June he gave his heart to me.

Profusion of blooms paltry pleasure gives,

fain would I his ardent kisses relive,
retreat I seek, in yon grove would I hide,
for young men deride and my sisters chide.

"Wherefore would you repine 'mong Earth's jewels,

while all the land in Summer's warmth revels?
Sweet the linnets sing perched atop their nests!
Butterflies alight 'pon  peonies' breasts."

Here, ‘neath our own bow'r, copious tears I shed,

saline drops of sorrow souse the rosebed,
roots imbibe visions of him I adore,
my soul's secrets in tender buds immure.

Would your warm velvet blush my wan cheek paint?

My glad rejoicing, ‘tis merely a feint.
Your perfume my pain renders bittersweet,
shower blossoms 'pon us when next June we meet.

'Tis true, absence the sad heart makes fonder,

may Father Time grant our love grow stronger.
Great Zephyr, my epistle to him bear,
return with tidings of how my love fares.

© 2014 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: The Soul of the Rose
Artist: John William Waterhouse