To Mary

The valley's lily in thy form we see;
     So purely sweet, so delicately fair,
     We only know by the soft odorous air
     Thou dwellest in, what heart is hiding there.
Nor hiding long, o'ertopped as thou mayst be.
     Sweet one! though nestling silent, in the shade 
     Of the great Tree of Life, whose boughs are swayed
     By every wind of Heaven, be not afraid.
Thou needst no speech, thy breath bewrayeth thee.
The tiniest cup, when filled with God's great love 
     Is inexhaustible as deepest wells;
     And we may drink from little lily-bells
     For all our thirst, since every drop that swells 
Their honied urn, is poured from ceaseless founts, above.