Whose swelling tides in glory
Roll onward to th' infinite deeps,
It is the soul's own story.'
"Again she beckoned him on, and without effort of his own he glided over the water until they paused again where a lotus flower rested on the tide. The bees clustered around it, attesting its sweetness, and when the king bent over it and breathed its odour he cried:
"'Ah, how shall my piety be pure like the lotus, and the savour of my virtues spread abroad?'
"And again the sprite replied:
"'Fairest flowers bloom unseen,
Graces that are manifest
Are of largess less serene;