DARK Lily without blame, Not upon us the shame, Whose sires were to the Auld Alliance true; They, by the Maiden's side, Victorious fought and died; One stood by thee that fiery torment through, Till the White Dove from thy pure lips had passed, And thou wert with thine own St. Catherine at the last. Once only didst thou see, In artist's imagery, Thine own face painted, and that precious thing Was in an Archer's hand From the leal Northern land. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAILWAY TRAIN by EMILY DICKINSON TO HIS CONSCIENCE by ROBERT HERRICK INTROSPECTION by GEORGE ARNOLD LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER by ROBERT BURNS UNFULFILLMENT by FRANCES LOUISA BUSHNELL A COMPLAINT TO HIS LADY by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |