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Lifting alike thy head Of placid beauty, feminine yet free, Whether with foam or pictured azure spread The waters be.

What is like thee, fair flower, The gentle and the firm? thus bearing up To the blue sky that alabaster cup, As to the shower?

Oh! Love is most like thee, The love of woman; quivering to the blast Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast, Midst Life's dark sea.

And Faith—O, is not faith Like thee too, Lily, springing into light, Still buoyantly, above the billows' might, Through the storm's breath?