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.
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.
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!
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.
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?
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.