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The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, Puts on the robe she neither sew'd nor spun. - Michael Bruce, Elegy White bud! that in meek beauty dost lean Thy cloistered cheek as pale as moonlight snow, Thou seem'st, beneath thy huge, high leaf of green, An Eremite beneath his mountain's brow. - George Croly, The Lily of the Valley And in his left he held a basket full Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill. - John Keats (1), Endymion (bk. I, l. 155) And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen, Through their pavilions of tender green. - Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant (pt. I) Where scattered wild the Lily of the Vale Its balmy essence breathes. - James Thomson (1), Seasons--Spring (l. 445) And leaves of that shy plant, (Her flowers were shed_ the lily of the vale. That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds Her pensive beauty, from the breeze her sweets. - William Wordsworth, Excursion (bk. IX, l. 540)
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