What of the way of the world gone Maying,
⁠What of the work of the buds in the bowers,
⁠What of the will of the wind on the wall,
Fluttering the wall‑flowers, sighing and playing,
⁠Shrinking again as a bird that cowers,
⁠Thinking of hours when the flowers have to fall?

Out of the throats of the loud birds showering,
⁠Out of the folds where the flag‑lilies leap,
⁠Out of the mouths of the roses stirred,
Out of the herbs on the walls reflowering,
⁠Out of the heights where the sheer snows sleep,
⁠Out of the deep and the steep, one word.

One from the lips of the lily‑flames leaping,
⁠The glad red lilies that burn in our sight,
⁠The great live lilies for standard and crown;
One from the steeps where the pines stand sleeping,
⁠One from the deep land, one from the height,
⁠One from the light and the might of the town.