lilies pale were talking,
Were faintly murmuring.

From dimly moonlit places
They thrust long throats of white,
And lovely lifted faces
Of fragrant snow and light.

Their language was an essence,
Yet clearer than a bird's;
And from it grew a presence
As music grows from words.

A spirit born of silence
And chastity and dew
Among Elysian islands
Were not more white to view.

A spirit born of fire
And holiness and snow
Within the Heavens' desire,
Were not more pure to know.

He smiled amid them lifting
Pale hands of prayer and peace--
And through the moonlight, drifting,
Came words to me like these:

"We are His lilies, lilies,
Whose praises aye we sing!
We are the lilies, lilies
Of Christ our Lord and King!"

A LEGEND OF THE LILY.

Pale as a star that shines through rain
Her face was seen at the window-pane,
Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.

The face of a girl whose brow was wan,
To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn,
And a star and the moon when the day was gone.

And oft and often the sun had said--
"O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head,
Come talk with me of the love that's dead."

And she would sit in the sun awhile,
Down in the garth by the old stone-dial,
Where never again would he make her smile.

And often the first bright star o'erhead
Had whispered, "Sweet, where the rose blooms red,
Come look with me for the love that's dead."

And she would wait with the star she knew,
Where the fountain splashed and the roses blew,
Where never again would he come to woo.

And oft the moon, when she lay in bed,
Had sighed, "Dear heart, in the orchardstead.
Come, dream with me of the love that's dead."

And she would stand in the moon, the dim,
Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb,
Where never again would she dream with him.

So summer passed and the autumn came;
And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame;
But her life and her sorrow remained the same.

Or, if she changed, as it comes about
A life may change through trouble and doubt,--
As a candle flickers and then goes out,--

'Twas only to grow more quiet and wan,
Sadly waiting at dusk and at dawn
For the coming of love forever gone.

And so, one night, when the star looked in,
It kissed her face that was white and thin,
And murmured, "Come! thou free of si