White bud! that in meek beauty dost lean Thy cloistered cheek as pale as moonlight snow, Thou seemst, beneath thy huge, high leaf of green, An Eremite beneath his mountains brow. George CrolyThe Lily of the Valley.
And in his left he held a basket full Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still Than Ledas love, and cresses from the rill. KeatsEndymion. Bk. I. L. 155.
And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen, Through their pavilions of tender green. ShelleyThe Sensitive Plant. Pt. I.
And leaves of that shy plant, (Her flowers were shed) the lily of the vale, That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds Her pensive beauty; from the breeze her sweets. WordsworthThe Excursion. Bk. IX. L. 540.