Out frae the white of lilies,
clothe her.
Out of its stored and glistening gold,
do treasure her.
Pluck from out the deep blue,
the steadfast sky,
the opi'n unto depths, that it be hers.
Leave thou the sun at every dawn to shew
His light upon the seeking shadows,
that they shew their phantomness to her.
Yet leave her woe. Ah, strip her not of this!
Make full her cup,
that she know Thy heights and depths.
Ope up her heart and write Thee there.
Nae promise of some golden realm as price;
But write Thy words,
and teach her lips to kiss the world.
November 25th, 1916
