And with a joy but rarely known
She drew that dear face to her own,
And by her bridal bonnet hid—
I cannot tell you what she did!
So, on they ride until among
The new-born leaves with dewdrops hung,
The parsonage, arrayed in white,
Peers out,—a more than welcome sight.
Then, with a cloud upon his face,
"What shall we do," he turned to say,