MORBIDEZZA.

WHITE girl, your flesh is lilies

Grown‘ neath a frozen moon,

So still is

The rapture of your swoon

Of whiteness, snow or lilies.

The virginal revealment,

Your bosom's wavering slope,

Concealment,

‘ Neath fainting heliotrope,

Of whitest white's revealment,

Is like a bed of lilies,

A jealous-guarded row,

Whose will is

Simply chaste dreams:— but oh,

The alluring scent of lilies!