Lilies

"For her, the lilies hang their heads and die."

"And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night."

"But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!"

"And the wand-like lily which lifted up, As a Mænad, its moonlight-coloured cup, Till the fiery star, which is its eye, Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky."

"But lilies, stolen from grassy mold, No more curlèd state unfold, Translated to a vase of gold; In burning throne though they keep still Serenities unthawed and chill."

"Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales, The lily wraps her silver vest, Till vernal suns and vernal gales Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast."

"And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white."

"And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much, Of dreamer turned to lover."

"I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow."

"Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thoughts hushed hour, Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced!"

"Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer; Growing straight out of mans reach, on the hill. God only, who made us rich, can make us poor."

"I wish I were the lilys leaf To fade upon that bosom warm, Content to wither, pale and brief, The trophy of thy paler form."