White though ye be; yet, Lillies, know, From the first ye were not so: But Ile tell ye What befell ye; Cupid and his Mother lay In a Cloud; while both did play, He with his pretty finger prest The rubie niplet of her breast; Out of the which, the creame of light, Like to a Dew, Fell downe on you, And made ye white. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROPEWALK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW EXODUS FOR OREGON by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER FOR 'THE WINE OF CIRCE' (BY EDWARD BURNE JONES) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI DEAD LOVE by MARY MATHEWS ADAMS LOVES MONARCHIE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO ALEXIS IN ANSWER TO HIS POEM AGAINST FRUITION by APHRA BEHN |