Marion showed me her wedding-gown
And her veil of gossamer lace to-night,
And the orange-blooms that to-morrow morn
Shall fade in her soft hair’s golden light.
But Philip came to the open door:
Like the heart of a wild-rose glowed her cheek,
And they wandered off through the garden-paths
So blest that they did not care to speak.
I wonder how it seems to be loved;
To know you are fair in someone’s eyes;
That upon someone your beauty dawns
Every day as a new surprise;
To know that, whether you weep or smile,
Whether your mood be grave or gay,
Somebody thinks you, all the while,
Sweeter than any flower of May.
I wonder what it would be to love:
That, I think, would be sweeter far,—
To know that one out of all the world
Was lord of your life, your king, your star!
They talk of love’s sweet tumult and pain:
I am not sure that I understand,
Though—a thrill ran down to my finger-tips
Once when—somebody—touched my hand!
I wonder what it would be to dream
Of a child that might one day be your own;
Of the hidden springs of your life a part,
Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone.
Marion stooped one day to kiss
A beggar’s babe with a tender grace;
While some sweet thought, like a prophecy,
Looked from her pure Madonna face.
I wonder what it must be to think
To-morrow will be your wedding-day,
And you, in the radiant sunset glow
Down fragrant flowery paths will stray,
As Marion does this blessed night,
With Philip, lost in a blissful dream.
Can she feel his heart through the silence beat?
Does he see her eyes in the starlight gleam?
Questioning thus, my days go on;
But never an answer comes to me:
All love’s mysteries, sweet as strange,
Sealed away from my life must be.
Yet still I dream, O heart of mine!
Of a beautiful city that lies afar;
And there, some time, I shall drop the mask,
And be shapely and fair as others are.