Lily Adair

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On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby,
  Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,
She played, on the banks of the Yuba,
  Such songs as she heard in her dreams.
Like the heavens, when the stars from their cyries
  Look down through the ebon night air,
Were the groves by the Ouphantic Fairies
  Lit up for my Lily Adair—
  For my child-like Lily Adair—
  For my heaven-born Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Like two rose-leaves in sunshine when blowing,
  Just curled softly, gently apart,
Were her lips by her passion, while growing
  In perfume on the stalk of her heart.
As mild as the sweet influences
  Of the Pleiades 'pregning the air—
More mild than the throned Excellencies
  Up in heaven, was my Lily Adair—
  Was my Christ-like Lily Adair—
  Was my lamb-like Lily Adair—
Was my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

At the birth of this fair virgin Vestal,
  She was taken for Venus' child;
And her voice, though like diamond in crystal,
  Was not more melodious than mild.
Like the moon in her soft silver splendor,
  She was shrined in her own, past compare,
For no Angel in heaven was more tender
  Than my beautiful Lily Adair—
  Than my dove-like Lily Adair—
  Than my saint-like Lily Adair—
Than my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Thus she stood on the arabesque borders
  Of the beautiful blossoms that blew
On the banks of the crystalline waters,
  Every morn, in the diaphane dew.
The flowers, they were radiant with glory,
  And shed such perfume on the air,
That my soul, now to want them, feels sorry,
  And bleeds for my Lily Adair—
  For my much-loved Lily Adair—
  For my long-lost Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

This work was published before January 1, 1923, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.