Lilies, are you come

    TIGER-LILIES

    LILIES, are you come ! 
    I quail before you as your buds upswell ; 
    It is the miracle 
    Of fire and sculpture in your brazen urns 

    That strikes me dumb, — 
    Fire of midsummer that burns, 

    And as it passes. 
    Flinging rich sparkles on its own clear blaze, 
    Wreathes with the wreathing tongues and rays, 
    Great tiger-lilies, of your deep-cleft masses I 
    It is the wonder 
    I am laid under 
    By the firm heaves 
    And overtumbling edges of your liberal leaves.