The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the humble grass,
  Answered the lovely maid and said:  ’I am a wat’ry weed,
  And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales;
  So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head. 
  Yet I am visited from heaven, and He that smiles on all
  Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads His hand,
  Saying, “Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower,
  Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
  For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
  Till summer’s heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs,
  To flourish in eternal vales.”  Then why should Thel complain? 
  Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?’

  She ceased, and smiled in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.

  Thel answered:  ’O thou little Virgin of the peaceful valley,
  Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o’er-tired;
  Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
  He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
  Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints. 
  Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
  Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
  Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed. 
  But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun: 
  I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?’

  ‘Queen of the vales,’ the Lily answered, ’ask the tender Cloud,
  And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,
  And why it scatters its bright beauty through the humid air. 
  Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.’

  The Cloud descended, and the Lily bowed her modest head,
  And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.

  II

  ‘O little Cloud,’ the Virgin said, I charge thee tell to me
  Why thou complainest not, when in one hour thou fade away;
  Then we shall seek thee, but not find.  Ah!  Thel is like to thee: 
  I pass away; yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.’

  The Cloud then showed his golden head, and his bright form emerged,
  Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel. 
  ’O Virgin, know’st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
  Where Luvah doth renew his horses?  Look’st thou on my youth,
  And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
  Nothing remains?  O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away,
  It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy: 
  Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
  And court the fair-eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent: 
  The weeping virgin, trembling, kneels before the risen sun,
  Till we arise, linked in a golden band and never part,
  But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers.’