In part, to silver pence.

He found the lilies blooming there
So spicy sweet to smell,
And to the eye so pure and fair,
He plucked them up to sell.

He could not to the market go:
He had too young a head,
The distant city's ways to know;
The route he could not tread.

But, when the coming coach-wheels rolled
To pass his humble cot,
His bunch of lilies to be sold
Was ready on the spot.

He'd stand beside the way, and hold
His treasures up to show,
That looked like yellow stars of gold
Just set in leaves of snow.

"O buy my lilies!" he would say;
"You'll find them new and sweet:
So fresh from out the pond are they,
I haven't dried my feet!"

And then he showed the dust that clung
Upon his garment's hem,
Where late the water-drops had hung,