XXII.
What aileth the bridegroom? He glares blank and wide;
Then suddenly turning he kisseth the bride;
His lips stung her with cold; she glanced upwardly mute:
"Mine own wife," he said, and fell stark at her foot
In the word he was saying.
XXIII.
They have lifted him up, but his head sinks away,
And his face showeth bleak in the sunshine and grey.
Leave him now where he lieth—for oh, never more
Will he kneel at an altar or stand on a floor!
Let his bride gaze upon him.
XXIV.
Long and still was her gaze while they chafèd him there
And breathed in the mouth whose last life had kissed her,
But when they stood up—only they! with a start
The shriek from her soul struck her pale lips apart:
She has lived, and forgone him!
XXV.
And low on his body she droppeth adown—
"Didst call me thine own wife, belovèd—thine own?
Then take thine own with thee! thy coldness is warm
To the world's cold without thee! Come, keep me from harm
In a calm of thy teaching!"
XXVI.
She looked in his face earnest-long, as in sooth
There were hope of an answer, and then kissed his mouth,
And with head on his bosom, wept, wept bitterly,—
"Now, O God, take pity—take pity on me!
God, hear my beseeching!"