The Swan

SHE seemed a larger lily, free;
Her snowy down, her bending wings,
Her graceful self-sufficiency,
Outdazzled other shining things:
Except the lily cups, that shone
Like little images of her —
Stars set about a silver moon,
Who sails them by, and does not stir
Their slender moorings, but contrives
To lend them light she cannot miss . . .
A man might live a score of lives,
But not surpass such sights as this.