WHITE girl, your flesh is lilies
Grown‘ neath a frozen moon,
So still is
The rapture of your swoon
Of whiteness, snow or lilies.
The virginal revealment,
Your bosom's wavering slope,
Concealment,
‘ Neath fainting heliotrope,
Of whitest white's revealment,
Is like a bed of lilies,
A jealous-guarded row,
Whose will is
Simply chaste dreams:— but oh,
The alluring scent of lilies!