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 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? 
 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. 
 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! 
 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. 
 And the stately lilies stand
 Fair in the silvery light,
  Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer;
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 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. 
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
 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. 
 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! 
 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.