O SOUL of mine, look out and see My bride, my bride that is to be! -- Reach out with mad, impatient hands, And draw aside futurity As one might draw a veil aside -- And so unveil her where she stands Madonna-like and glorified -- The queen of undiscovered lands Of love, to where she beckons me -- My bride, my bride that is to be. The shadow of a willow-tree That wavers on a garden-wall In summer-time may never fall In attitude as gracefully As my fair bride that is to be; -- Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown As lightly flutter to the lawn As fall her fairy-feet upon The path of love she loiters down. -- O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet Not one may stain her sandal wet -- Ay, she might @3dance@1 upon the way Nor crush a single drop to spray, So airy-like she seems to me, -- My bride, my bride that is to be. I know not if her eyes are light As summer skies or dark as night, -- I only know that they are dim With mystery: In vain I peer To make their hidden meaning clear, While o'er their surface, like a tear That ripples to the silken brim, A look of longing seems to swim All worn and weary-like to me; And then, as suddenly, my sight Is blinded with a smile so bright, Through folded lids I still may see My bride, my bride that is to be. Her face is like a night of June Upon whose brow the crescent-moon Hangs pendent in a diadem Of stars, with envy lighting them. -- And, like a wild cascade, her hair Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, Till only through a gleaming mist I seem to see a Siren there, With lips of love and melody And open arms and heaving breast Wherein I fling myself to rest, The while my heart cries hopelessly For my fair bride that is to be. . . . . . . . Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes! My bride hath need of no disguise. -- But, rather, let her come to me In such a form as bent above My pillow when, in infancy, I knew not anything but love. -- O let her come from out the lands Of Womanhood -- not fairy isles, -- And let her come with Woman's hands And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles, -- With Woman's hopefulness and grace Of patience lighting up her face: And let her diadem be wrought Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, That ever over all distress May beam the light of cheerfulness. -- And let her feet be brave to fare The labyrinths of doubt and care, That, following, my own may find The path to Heaven God designed. -- O let her come like this to me -- My bride -- my bride that is to be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTERS TO DEAD IMAGISTS by CARL SANDBURG THE BEACON; A MUSICAL DRAMA by JOANNA BAILLIE THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW; A MIDSUMMER LEGEND by MARY HOWITT THE WEATHER-COCK POINTS SOUTH by AMY LOWELL REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH by HERMAN MELVILLE TO THE RETURNED GIRLS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MAKE FRIENDS by ALI IBN ABU TALIB THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 42. FAREWELL TO JULIET (4) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |