I CALL her the Red Lily. Lo! she stands From all her milder sister flowers apart; A conscious grace in those fair-folded hands, Pressed on the guileful throbbings of her heart! I call her the Red Lily. As all airs Of North or South, the Lily's leaves that stir, Seem lost in languorous sweetness that despairs Of blissful life or hope, except through her; So this Red Lily of maids, this human flower, Yielding no love, all sweets of love doth take, Twining such spells of passion's secret power As, woven once, what lordliest will can break? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUMMER LONGINGS by DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY CURFEW MUST NOT RING TONIGHT by ROSE HARTWICK THORPE COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PURIM, 1900 by ALICE D. BRAHAM EXODUS X: 21-23 by JOHN WILLIAM BURGON ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC FARCE, OR FARCICAL OPERA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |