Go bow thy head in gentle spite,
Thou lily white,
For she who spies thee waving here,
With thee in beauty can compare
As day with night.
Soft are thy leaves and white: her arms
Boast whiter charms.
Thy stem prone bent with loveliness...
A peasant stood before a king and said,
“My children starve, I come to thee for bread.”
On cushions soft and silken sat enthroned
The king, and looked on him that prayed and moaned,
Who cried again,—“For bread I come to thee.”
For grief, like wine, the...
This is the pathway where she walked,
The tender grass pressed by her feet.
The laurel boughs laced overhead,
Shut out the noonday heat.
The sunshine gladly stole between
The softly undulating limbs.
From every blade and leaf arose...
