 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
168
WHAT SHE THOUGHT
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.
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.
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!
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.
Of a child that might one day be your own;
169
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?
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.
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.
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |