For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.

For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.

Is not this lily pure?
What fuller can procure
A white so perfect, spotless clear
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Is not this lily pure?
What fuller can procure
A white so perfect, spotless clear
As in this flower doth appear?

And the wand-like lily which lifted up,
As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, read more

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

Gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew
Shut in a lily's golden core.

Gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew
Shut in a lily's golden core.

"Look to the lilies how they grow!"
'Twas thus the Saviour said, that we,
Even in the read more

"Look to the lilies how they grow!"
'Twas thus the Saviour said, that we,
Even in the simplest flowers that blow,
God's ever-watchful care might see.

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.

. . . Purple lilies Dante blew
To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.

. . . Purple lilies Dante blew
To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.

I like not lady-slippers,
Not yet the sweet-pea blossoms,
Not yet the flaky roses,
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I like not lady-slippers,
Not yet the sweet-pea blossoms,
Not 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 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!