LILIES, are you come!
I quail before you as your buds upswell ;
It is the miracle
Of fire and sculpture in your brazen urns
That strikes me dumb,—
Fire of midsummer that burns,
And as it passes,
Flinging rich sparkles on its own clear blaze,
Wreathes with the wreathing tongues and rays,
Great tiger-lilies, of your deep-cleft masses !
It is the wonder
I am laid under
By the firm heaves
And over-tumbling edges of your liberal leaves.
Michael Field.