O mist-blown Lily of the north,
A-bnding southward in thy bloom,
And bringing beauty silver sown
And pale blue radiance of snows--
O fair white ily, bowin low,
Above the dream-swept poppy's mouth,
Athwart the black and crimson South--
Why dost thou fear--why dos thou fear?
Lo! sense its sleep-sown subtle breath,
Where wheel in passioned whirl above
All lingering, luring love of love--
All perfume born of dole and deaht.
Cold ghost-wreathed Lily of the North,
When once thy dawning darkens there,
Come then with sunlight-sifted hair
And seek the haunting heaven of Night.
Where, over moon-mad shadows whirled,
The star-tanned mists dim swathe the sky
In phantasy to dream and die--
A wild sweetg wedding of the World.