breast. 

And all the proud, white lilies Turned their faces away, And nobody plucked that lily, And day, and night, and day 

She wept for her ruined beauty:   And the dew-drops, and the rain, Touched with her tears, in pity Fell on the muddy stain. 

Still stood she in her grieving Day, and night, and day; Nor tears, nor dew, nor rain-drops, Could fade the stain away. 

Pining in desolation, Shunned by each of her kind, Sought she a bitter solace In creatures of a coarser mind. 

But the breath of the nettle stung her, And the thistle's rude embrace Burned her sensitive nature, And scarred the fair, stained face. 

Lower drooped the lily, And died at the feet of the weeds; And only the tender mosses Ministered to her needs. 

And still the tall while lilies Stand as cold, and proud, And still the weeds and thistles Against the lilies crowd. 

Alike the same warm sunbeams, On weed and flower fall, Alike by the same soil nourished, And the great God made them all. 

 

     A VALENTINE 

I love thee for the soul that shines Within thine eyes' soft beaming, From out whose depths the prisoned fires Of intellect are gleaming. 

I love thee for the mind that soars Beyond earth's narrow keeping, That measures suns, and stars, and worlds, Through boundless limits sweeping. 

I love thee for the voice whose power Can in my heart awaken To passioned life each slumbering chord The ruder tones have shaken. 

Thou ne'er, perchance, mayst feel the chain With which this love has bound thee, Nor dream thee of the hand that flung Its glittering links around thee. 

And vainly mayst thou deem the task Thy captive bounds to sever— Who madly dates to love thee now Will love thee on forever. 

 

     WHICH ONE 

Each was as fair as the other, And both as my life were dear; And the voices that lisped me mother, Heaven's music in my ear. 

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