“And then I wore a captain’s sword;
And, too, had oftentime before
Doffed cap at her dead father’s door,
And passed a soldier’s pleasant word.
“And then—ah, I was comely then!
I bore no load upon my back,
I heard no hounds upon my track,
But stood the tallest of tall men.
“Her father’s and her mother’s shrine,
This church amid the orange wood,
So near and so secure it stood,
It seemed to beckon as a sign.
“Its white cross seemed to beckon me:
My heart was strong, and it was mine
To throw myself upon my knee,
To beg to lead her to this shrine.
“She did consent. Through lanes of light
I led through that church-door that night—
Let fall your hand! Take back your face
And stand,—stand patient in your place!
“She loved me; and she loves me still.
Yea, she clung close to me that hour
As honey-bee to honey-flower,—
And still is mine, through good or ill.
“The priest stood there. He spake the prayer;
He made the holy, mystic sign.
And she was mine, was wholly mine,—
Is mine this moment I will swear!
“Then days, then nights, of vast delight,—
Then came a doubtful, later day;
The faithful priest, now far away,
Watched with the dying in the fight:
“The priest amid the dying, dead,
Kept duty on the battle-field,—
That midnight marriage unrevealed
Kept strange thoughts running through my head.
“At last a stray ball struck the priest:
This vestibule his chancel was.
And now none lived to speak her cause,
Record, or champion her the least.