Never saw her, and I used to guess
At some secret wrong that I never knew.
That might be or not. But now, to hear
She would come and reign here in her stead,
With the pomp and splendor of a bride:
Would no thought reproach her in her pride
With the silent memory of the dead?
Lo the day came, and the bells rang out,
And I laid the children’s black aside;
And I held each little trembling hand,