University of Virginia Library

Again the lovely morn awoke
Upon that temple still and lone;
Its rosy bloom in gladness broke,
And to the holy altar-stone
Came down subduedly and dim,
Through painted glass, o'er sculptured limb:
Outstretched within that gorgeous gloom,
Shaded by pall and sable plume,
As chisseled from the very stone,
The Bridegroom lay. A broken moan
Rose up from where the Widow bowed,
Her forehead buried in the pall,
Her fingers grasping still the shroud,
And every limb betraying all
The agony that wrung her heart.
It was a sad and fearful sight,
That lifted head, those lips apart,
When through the dim and purplish light
Those who obeyed the bridal call
Now gathered for the funeral;
A soft and solemn strain awoke
The silence of that lofty dome,
And through the fretted arches broke
The music surging to its home;
Then with a firm and heavy tread
The bearers slowly raised the dead;
She followed close, her trembling hand
Still clenched upon the gloomy pall,
In snowy robes and pearly band,
As at her wedding festival;
And in her bright disshevelled hair
A broken orange-blossom lay,
Withered and all entangled there;
Fit relic of her bridal day;
Thus onward to the tomb she passed,
Her white robe swaying to the blast,
And mingling at each stirring breath
There with the drapery of death.