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THE BRIDAL DAY.
BY L. E. L.
She leans beside her mirror, in her old accustomed place,
Yet something unfamiliar is on her lovely face:
She wears a wreath, a snow-white wreath, which yet she never wore;
It gives a paleness to the cheek, unknown to it before.
The maiden goeth to the grove, and, of the flowers beneath,
She takes the lily or the rose, to bind her midnight wreath;
But of one plant she gathers not, though fair its blossoms be;
Only the bride hath leave to wear buds from the orange tree.
Once, only once, that wreath is worn,—once only may she wear
The pale white wreath of orange-flowers within her shining hair;
They wear, upon their soft wan bloom, the shade of coming years;
The spiritual presence is around of human hopes and fears.
