Lilies are white, so white! -- imagine
A candor as fair as would obscure
The colors of the light, washing out yellows,
Beaming down greys, and making green or red
Into things of dread. Now green is the emerald
Of the eyes, whose palpitations cannot touch
These pearls, this treasury of rising
Moons that brim over the tips, I mean
The cistern of her bleeding lips.
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