We bathed her brows in wine and myrrh;—
How death-like sank at last to rest
While rose the sun! I feared to stir.
All night I heard our bridal bells
That chimed so late o'er springing corn:
Half changed they seemed to funeral knells—
She, too, had had her bridal morn!
Revived she woke. The pang was past:
She woke to live, to smile, to breathe:
Oh! what a look was that she cast,