The ringdove’s wing is flitting o’er my head,
Casting at times a silvery shadow down
Midst the large water-lilies. Beautiful!
How beautiful is all this fair, free world
Under God’s open sky!
Mother. Thou art o’erwrought
Once more, my child! The dewy, trembling light
Presaging tears, again is in thine eye.
Oh, hush, dear Lilian! turn thee to repose.
Lilian. Mother! I cannot. In my soul the thoughts