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Poems

By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

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CXLVI
LILIES AND DOVES

(May, 1902)
Bring not the lily hither; she is pale,
And we have bought with blood the end of strife.
She lives a day; and then her glories fail.
The peace we died for shall outlive our life.

143

Make not the dove an emblem; she hath wings,
And she will fly: 'tis not her cooing song
That shall proclaim the concord whence there springs
Stern peace—a joy inflexible and strong.