Down the aisle our David hastened—passing Belle upon the way,
Till he paused to place the jewel on the pretty hand of May.
With her bosom over-flowing, May could utter not a word,
But her eyes and lips gave answer in the silence David heard.
And the tear that sorrow started changing quick to love’s employ,
Trembled on her heavy lashes like a messenger of joy.
While her cheek has turned to crimson, down the drop of rapture goes,
Stopping there awhile to glisten like a dewdrop on a rose.
Can you measure love’s emotion when a sorrow turns to bliss,
When a maid whose heart is broken has it mended with a kiss?