And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the
field, how they grow; they toil not, read more

And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the
field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:
And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was
not arrayed like one of these.

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.

Is not this lily pure?
What fuller can procure
A white so perfect, spotless clear
read more

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

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,
The lily wraps her silver vest,
Till vernal suns and read more

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.

For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.

For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.

"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!"

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.

And the stately lilies stand
Fair in the silvery light,
Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer;
read more

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.

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!