Weird Tales/Volume 10/Issue 6/White Lilies
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WHITE LILIES
White lilies grow above your bed;
A gleaming marble marks its head.
The swaying lilies, bending low,
Drip crystal tears; they seem to know
I grieve for your dear spirit fled.
The world tramps by with hurried tread;
It has no time to mourn the dead,
Nor has it solace to bestow
Where lilies grow.
Alone my hopeless tears are shed;
Alone my futile prayers are said.
Dear eyes, that one short year ago
Were lit with love's celestial glow—
Forever closed; above your bed
White lilies grow.