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, 10 My rose a bud not fully blown, But sure one day to be mine own.