Weave no more the marriage-chain!
All unmated is the lover;
Death has ta'en the place of Pain;
Love doth call on Love in vain:
Life and years of hope are over!
No more want of marriage-bell!
No more need of bridal favor!
Where is she to wear them well?
You beside the lover tell!
Gone,--with all the love he gave her!
Paler than the stone she lies;
Colder than the winter's morning!
Wherefore did she thus despise
(She with pity in her eyes)
Mother's care and lover's warning?
Youth and beauty,--shall they not
Last beyond a brief to-morrow?
No: a prayer, and then forgot!
This the truest lover's lot;
This the sum of human sorrow!
_Bryan Waller Procter._
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