
THE POETRY 
THE LILY. 
J.H. WIFFEN. 
Loox on that flower—the daughter of the vale 
The Medicean statue of the shade! 
Her limbs of modest beauty, aspect Fale, 
Are but by her ambrosial breath betray’d. 
There, half in secant relief display’d, 
She standeth to our gaze, half-shrinking shuns; 
Folding her green scarf like a bashful maid 
Around, to screen her from her suitor suns, 
Not all her many sweets she iavisheth at once, 


Lock’d in the twilight ee boughs, 
Where night and day commingle, she doth shoot, 
Where nightingales repeat ues marriage VOWS; 
First by retiring, wins our curious foot, 
Then charms us by her ae to suit 
Our contemplation to her lovely lees 
Her gloom, leaf, blossom, fragrance form dispute 
Which shall attract most belgards to the spot, 
And loveliest her array who fain would rest un 
sought. 

Her gloom, oe aisle of heavenly solitude; 
Her flower, the vestal nun who there abideth; 
Her breath, that of celestials meekly woo’d 
From heaven; her leaf, the holy veil which 

where purity residetl i 



