DOLORES.

A light at her feet and a light at her head, How fast asleep my Dolores lies! Awaken, my love, for to-morrow we wed— Uplift the lids of thy beautiful eyes. Too soon art thou clad in white, my spouse: Who placed that garland above thy heart Which shall wreathe to-morrow thy bridal brows? How quiet and mute and strange thou art! And hearest thou not my voice that speaks? And feelest thou not my hot tears flow As I kiss thine eyes and thy lips and thy cheeks? Do they not warm thee, my bride of snow? Thou knowest no grief, though thy love may weep. A phantom smile, with a faint, wan beam, Is fixed on thy features sealed in sleep: Oh tell me the secret bliss of thy dream. Does it lead to fair meadows with flowering trees, Where thy sister-angels hail thee their own? Was not my love to thee dearer than these? Thine was my world and my heaven in one. I dare not call thee aloud, nor cry, Thou art so solemn, so rapt in rest, But I will whisper: Dolores, 'tis I: My heart is breaking within my breast. Never ere now did I speak thy name, Itself a caress, but the lovelight leapt Into thine eyes with a kindling flame, And a ripple of rose o'er thy soft cheek crept. But now wilt thou stir not for passion or prayer, And makest no sign of the lips or the eyes, With a nun's strait band o'er thy bright black hair— Blind to mine anguish and deaf to my cries. I stand no more in the waxen-lit room: I see thee again as I saw thee that day, In a world of sunshine and springtide bloom, 'Midst the green and white of the budding May. Now shadow, now shine, as the branches ope, Flickereth over my love the while: From her sunny eyes gleams the May-time hope, And her pure lips dawn in a wistful smile. As one who waiteth I see her stand, Who waits though she knows not what nor whom, With a lilac spray in her slim soft hand: All the air is sweet with its spicy bloom. I knew not her secret, though she held mine: In that golden hour did we each confess; And her low voice murmured, Yea, I am thine, And the large world rang with my happiness. To-morrow shall be the blessedest day That ever the all-seeing sun espied: Though thou sleep till the morning's earliest ray, Yet then thou must waken to be my bride. Yea, waken, my love, for to-morrow we wed: Uplift the lids of thy beautiful eyes. A light at her feet and a light at her head, How fast asleep my Dolores lies!