Lilies -- as tall as ourselves and more lovely,
   and full of fragrance, and long orange tongues,
      and those playthings the bees -- stood in

a neighbor's yard, a thick, ramping
   hedge of them.  You could not help but see
      that to be beautiful is also to be simple

and brief; is to rise up and be glorious, and then vanish;
   is to be silent but as though a song was in you only it
      hasn't yet been heard . . . .

-- Mary Oliver