And bent o’er the water beside it
Where the sweet pond-lilies grew.
The stem broke short in my fingers,
The bloom remained in my grasp,
But the life of the swaying pretty thing
I tried in vain to clasp.
The breezes were floating gently by
The calm, peaceful waters reflected the sky;
The flag-stalk nodded its flowerless head,
In my hand lay the blossom withering, dead.