White lilies, in whose cups the gold bees dream,
The fallen snow of petals where the breeze
Scatters the blossom, or the gleam
Of all our endless sins, our vain endeavour
Enough for thee, dost thou desire more?
The fallen snow of petals where the breeze
Scatters the blossom, or the gleam
Of all our endless sins, our vain endeavour
Enough for thee, dost thou desire more?
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