Alas! that sufferer weak and wan
Whom, yester‐eve, our journey o’er,
Deserted by the caravan,
We found upon our gallery floor!
How long she gasped upon my breast!
We bathed her brows in wine and myrrh;—
How death‐like sank at last to rest
While rose the sun! I feared to stir.
All night I heard our bridal bells
That chimed so late o’er springing corn:
Half changed they seemed to funeral knells—
She, too, had had her bridal morn!
Revived she woke. The pang was past:
She woke to live, to smile, to breathe:
Oh! what a look was that she cast,
Awaking, on my nuptial wreath