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 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. 
 But lilies, stolen from grassy mold,
 No more curled state unfold,
  Translated to a vase of gold;
read more 
 But lilies, stolen from grassy mold,
 No more curled state unfold,
  Translated to a vase of gold;
   In burning throne though they keep still
    Serenities unthawed and chill. 
 We are Lilies fair,
 The flower of virgin light;
  Nature held us forth, and said,
  read more 
 We are Lilies fair,
 The flower of virgin light;
  Nature held us forth, and said,
   "Lo! my thoughts of white."
   - Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt), 
 I like not lady-slippers,
 Not yet the sweet-pea blossoms,
  Not yet the flaky roses,
   read more 
 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. 
 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. 
 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, the great ocean hath no tone of power
 Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hushed hour,
 read more 
 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! 
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
 And lilies white, prepared to touch
 The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
  Of dreamer turned to read more 
 And lilies white, prepared to touch
 The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
  Of dreamer turned to lover.