Joseph Skipsey

The Stained Lily

WHEN first the maiden fair I eyed,
    —This world is a world of grief alone—
A lily she held and a rose beside
     But I was doomed her lot to moan.
 
The rose was gain’s and the lily was stain’d,
    —This world is a world of grief alone—
And from that hour her beauty waned,
     And I was left her lot to moan.
 
The lily was stain’d when the rose was gain’d,
    —This world is a world of grief alone—
And from that hour her life star waned,
     And I was left her lot to moan.
 
Ah, never more in my sight she’ll stand
    —This world is a world of grief alone—
With a lily bright in her lily-white hand,
     And I am doomed her lot to moan.
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