July
by C.S.C.
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.3 #9 (Jul 1867).
The stately foxglove has purpled and died
Many a time since the golden day,
When at the feet of my new-won bride
I watched her dreaming the world away;
Her maiden world, so narrow, so sweet,
With heavenly music for its air,
And paths pressed only by angel feet—
A world undarkened by evil or care.
The tender daylight caressed her face,
Her clear eyes blended with heaven's soft blue,
The grace of her form was the harebell's grace,
And her lovely lips bore the wild pink's hue;
About her all fair unsullied things,
Light, and earth's flowers and bounteous green,
Gathered—mild spirits with soundless wings—
Like handmaids tending a maiden queen.
Voices were near us, but we were alone;
She was alone in her maiden mood,—
A mood that even love's gentlest tone
Might break upon with a sound too rude.
Light on her hand lay the touch of mine,
As shadow of flower or leaf might lie;
Low beat my heart in the silence fine
Of her dreaming thought's sweet mystery.
The wild rose many a time has died
Since at the feet of my love I lay,
In the golden fall of life's summer-tide,
Watching her dreaming the world away;
To thrill with joy when she woke at last
And bent upon me the trustful gaze
That wistfully never has turned to the past,
Or paled in doubt of the coming days.