Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/142

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Bright-featured, as the July sun

Her little face, still played in,

And splendours, with her birth begun,

Had had no time for fading.

So,, from those July hours,

No wonder we should call her;

She looked such kinship to the flowers. ..

Was but a little taller.

A Tuscan Lily,—only white. ..

As Dante, in abhorrence

Of red corruption, wished aright

The lilies of his Florence.

We could not wish her whiter,. . Her

Who perfumed with pure blossom

The house!—a lovely thing to wear

Upon a mother's bosom!

This July creature thought perhaps

Our speech not worth assuming:

She sate upon her parents' laps,

And mimicked the gnat's humming;