A BRIDE.
153
A BRIDE.
HIS fair shape is your bride-to-be?This white vision you claim as yours
This is the household deity
You are to worship while life endures?
Surely a splendor so strange and new
Had in another sphere its birth;—
How could a mortal man like-you
Lure her down to this dull, cold earth?
Had in another sphere its birth;—
How could a mortal man like-you
Lure her down to this dull, cold earth?
Lovely? yes,—there is not a flaw
Her perfect fairness to cloud or spoil;—
Nature for once has broken her law,
And made a beauty without its foil.
Her perfect fairness to cloud or spoil;—
Nature for once has broken her law,
And made a beauty without its foil.
Could threads of gold be as finely spun,
They might shine like her drifting hair;—
And such a brow!—there was never one
Half so queenly or half so fair.
They might shine like her drifting hair;—
And such a brow!—there was never one
Half so queenly or half so fair.
