 | The Lady of La Garaye |  |
He saw her, pausing on the bank above;
Saw,—like a dreadful vision of his love,—
That dazzling dream stand on the edge of death:
Saw it—and stared—and prayed—and held his breath.
Bright shone the Autumn sun on wood and plain;
On the steed's glossy flanks and flowing mane;
On the wild silver of the rushing brook;
On his wife's smiling and triumphant look;
Bright waved against the sky her wind-tost plume,
Bright on her freshened cheek the healthy bloom,—
Oh! all bright things, how could ye end in doom?
Saw,—like a dreadful vision of his love,—
That dazzling dream stand on the edge of death:
Saw it—and stared—and prayed—and held his breath.
Bright shone the Autumn sun on wood and plain;
On the steed's glossy flanks and flowing mane;
On the wild silver of the rushing brook;
On his wife's smiling and triumphant look;
Bright waved against the sky her wind-tost plume,
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Oh! all bright things, how could ye end in doom?
| The Lady of La Garaye | |