LILIE. A MYTH.
Within this bosom she was born,
I say not if 'twas day or night
I say not if 'twas eve or morn
When Lilie saw the light.
A vision that for seventeen years
Had floated in men's eyes was she;
A bright machine of smiles and tears,
No more—till she knew me.
Into my arms that vision crept,
And nothing knew she there should find!
And I breathed on her as she slept,
And she became a Mind.
And now she was and she was not,
When, faltering betwixt part and whole,
I closer clasped her, and begot
Upon herself her Soul.
I was a coarse and vulgar man,
I vile and vulgar things had done;
And I, as Nature's instincts ran,
Was wont to let them run.
And yet to such a man as I
Did Lilie her pure fancy fling;
And loved me— as a butterfly
May love a flower of Spring.
She sought my breast, she nestled there,
For nought knew she that should forbid:
God help me! but she was too fair,—
I knew not what I did.
I knew not what I did, and now
Scarce know if I did wrong or right;
But in my arms, I wot not how,
There came a Soul to light.
But as one bends o'er waters clear,
And sees the cloud-reflecting space
Give quickly up the idle sphere
To yield a human face,
So while we talked that blissful eve,
I saw my Lilie's heaven-grey eye;
I saw her virgin breast conceive
The deep Humanity.
And then, upon her wondering still,
I poured the warm breath of a man;
And so in Lilie's soul the thrill
Of woman's life began.
There's many a tale shall say and prove,
How some are ruined by their charms;
But Lilie, as I live and love,
Was born within my arms.