Shining, never-thirsty flowers,

That by the water-side

Do never plaintive cry for showers

To damp their local pride.

Lazy they wag their lovely heads,

Nodding that way and this,

Lithe bodies upon mossy beds

With lips bedewed that kiss.

The kindly and generous stream

That gently ripples by,

An idle, silvery dream,

Where sleeping fishes lie.

These delicate flowers of Mary

Lie long and overgrown,

While Martha's parched and weary

Stand in the sun and groan