有一只雪白的百合增长了一个小屋的门: Such a white and wonderful lily Never was seen before. The earth and the ether brought it Sustenance, raiment, grace, And the feet of the west wind sought it, And smiled in its smiling face. Tall were its leaves and slender, Slender and tall its stem; Purity, all its splendour, Beauty, its diadem. Still from the ground it sprouted, Statelier year by year, Till loveliness clung about it, And was its atmosphere. And the fame of this lily was bruited 'Mong men ever more and more; They came, and they saw, and uprooted Its life from the cottage door. For they said, ``'Twere shame, 'twere pity, It here should dwell half despised. We must carry it off to the city, Where lilies are loved and prized.'' The city was moved to wonder, And burst into praise and song, And the multitude parted asunder To gaze on it borne along. Along and aloft 'twas uplifted, From palace to palace led; Men vowed 'twas the lily most gifted Of lilies living or dead. And wisdom, and wealth, and power, Bowed down to it more and more:- Yet it never was quite the same flower That bloomed by the cottage door. For no longer the night-dews wrought it Raiment, and food, and grace; Nor the feet of the west wind sought it, To dance in its dimpling face. 'Twas pursued by the frivolous rabble, With poisonous lips and eyes; They drenched it with prurient babble, And fed it with fulsome lies. Thus into the lily there entered The taint of the tainted crew, Till itself in itself grew centred, And it flattery drank like dew. Then tongues began words to bandy As to whose might the lily be. ``'Tis mine,'' said the titled dandy; Said the plutocrat, ``'tis for me.'' Thus over the lily they wrangled, Making the beautiful base, Till its purity seemed all mangled, And its gracefulness half disgrace. Next they who had first enthroned it, And blatantly hymned its fame, Now, curdling their smiles, disowned it, And secretly schemed its shame. The lily began to wither, Since the world was no longer sweet; And hands that had brought it thither, Flung it into the street. A sensitive soul and tender The flung-away lily found: He had seen it in hours of splendour, So he lifted it from the ground. He carried it back to the garden Where in olden days it grew, And he knelt, and prayed for it pardon From the sun, and the breeze, and the dew. Then the breeze, since it knows no malice, And the sun that detesteth strife, And the dew whose abode is the chalice, Would have coaxed back the lily to life. But the lily would not waken, Nor ever will waken more; And feet and fame have forsaken Its place by the cottage door.