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the maiden to her mirror.
And thou wert the first, long years ago,
In my childhood's laughing hour,
To whisper a thought of beauty bright,
Though I guessed not of its power:
But one hath knelt at that beauty's shrine,
And proffered a noble heart;
And the word is spoken in holy faith,
From which we may never part.
In my childhood's laughing hour,
To whisper a thought of beauty bright,
Though I guessed not of its power:
But one hath knelt at that beauty's shrine,
And proffered a noble heart;
And the word is spoken in holy faith,
From which we may never part.
And to-morrow—then kind hands will deck
My form for the altar's side;
And with murmured wishes of health and joy,
They will hail me, a happy bride.
Wilt thou give me back as bright a cheek
As leans to thy surface now?
Will thy shining bosom, old mirror, speak
Of a pale but lovely brow?
My form for the altar's side;
And with murmured wishes of health and joy,
They will hail me, a happy bride.
Wilt thou give me back as bright a cheek
As leans to thy surface now?
Will thy shining bosom, old mirror, speak
Of a pale but lovely brow?
Will thou say beneath my bridal veil,
Half hid by their swelling tears,
Mine eyes beam forth with the liquid light
Of my girlhood's happy years?
Half hid by their swelling tears,
Mine eyes beam forth with the liquid light
Of my girlhood's happy years?
