Love could not chill her low, soft bed
With any sad memorial stone;
He put a red rose at her head—
A flame as fragrant as his own.
Ada Foster Murray [1857-1936]
THE WIFE FROM FAIRYLAND
Her talk was all of woodland things,
Of little lives that pass
Away in one green afternoon,
Deep in the haunted grass;
For she had come from fairyland,
The morning of a day
When the world that still was April
Was turning into May.
Green leaves and silence and two eyes—
'Twas so she seemed to me,
A silver shadow of the woods,
Whisper and mystery.
I looked into her woodland eyes,
And all my heart was hers,
And then I led her by the hand
Home up my marble stairs;
And all my granite and my gold
Was hers for her green eyes,
And all my sinful heart was hers
From sunset to sunrise;
I gave her all delight and ease
That God had given to me,
I listened to fulfil her dreams,
Rapt with expectancy.