272
Margaret.
When yesternoon at the altar rail,
A bride drew back her shining veil,
And through the door and up the aisle,
The daylight followed like a smile,
Methought yon marble—pallid now
Under the moon's upcreeping tide—
From swelling breast to cheek and brow,
Blushed crimson with indignant pride,
As if the dead that lay below
Angered to hear the bridal vow,
Her lips grew pale repeating,
After the lapse of a single year
Breathed in her lord 's forgetful ear.
But when I looked again,
Above, the August sun kept beating
Against the chancel pane,
And striking through a martyr's crown,
Showered a blood-red glory down.
A bride drew back her shining veil,
And through the door and up the aisle,
The daylight followed like a smile,
Methought yon marble—pallid now
Under the moon's upcreeping tide—
From swelling breast to cheek and brow,
Blushed crimson with indignant pride,
As if the dead that lay below
Angered to hear the bridal vow,
Her lips grew pale repeating,
After the lapse of a single year
Breathed in her lord 's forgetful ear.
But when I looked again,
Above, the August sun kept beating
Against the chancel pane,
And striking through a martyr's crown,
Showered a blood-red glory down.
She, that was heir to a lordly pride,
Leant from the arms of her high-born mother
To the low fount of a peasant's breast;
I was her foster brother.
Leant from the arms of her high-born mother
To the low fount of a peasant's breast;
I was her foster brother.
