WITHIN THE VEIL
(Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1865.)
She holds a lily in her hand, Where long ranks of Angels stand, A silver lily for her wand.
All her hair falls sweeping down; Her hair that is a golden brown, A crown beneath her golden crown.
Blooms a rose-bush at her knee, Good to smell and good to see: It bears a rose for her, for me;
Her rose a blossom richly grown, My rose a bud not fully blown, But sure one day to be mine own.