"Thou wert not, Solomon! in all thy glory
Array'd," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours;
How read more

"Thou wert not, Solomon! in all thy glory
Array'd," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours;
How vain your grandeur! Ah, how transitory
Are human flowers!"

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me.

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

Like the lily
That once was mistress of the field and flourished,
I'll hang my head and read more

Like the lily
That once was mistress of the field and flourished,
I'll hang my head and perish.

I wish I were the lily's leaf
To fade upon that bosom warm,
Content to wither, pale read more

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

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

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

Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
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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 man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets!

Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets!

For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.

For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.