Love, walking in the garden of the king, Beheld a queenly lily blossoming, Then fondly stooped to pluck it for his breast; But said the Voice: "Is this thy cherishing?" "Behold!" the Voice spake on; "Love's truest test Would leave the blossom where it thrives the best." So Love bent down and kissed the chaste, white thing, And lo! the king made him an honored guest. |