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But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!

But lilies, stolen from grassy mold, No more curled state unfold, Translated to a vase of gold; In burning throne though they keep still Serenities unthawed and chill.

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales, The lily wraps her silver vest, Till vernal suns and vernal gales Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.