Impressions: A Book of Verse/To a Bride

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TO A BRIDE

THY youthful roses all to lilies turned,
Thy head droops shyly like a lily feir:
Thy slender height new dignity doth wear:
Sweet seriousness thy very smile hath learned
And eyes now wistful sink, where late have burned
Bright girlish flames.—And yet a charm more rare,
A sweet pathetic grace, now lingers there
And tells of joy that yet hath grief discerned,

Since only those who know the high delight,
The awful bliss of loving with the whole
Informing force that lives in a pure soul,
Can dimly guess at Sorrow's deadly might.—
But far from thee may Sorrow ever dwell,
Encompassed round by love—then—Fare thee well.