Richard Henry Stoddard

The Night Before the Bridal

THE bridal flower you gave me,
The rose so pure and white,
I press it to my lips, dear,
With tears of soft delight.

Its odor is so heavy
It makes me faint and pine;
It is thy kiss that freights it,
That sweet, sweet love of thine.

To-morrow thou wilt give me,
For a spell of joy and power,
The hand that gave the rose-bud,
And thy heart, a richer flower.

Then this may fade, and wither,
No longer kissed by me,
For these, my burning kisses,
Will then be showered on thee.

English Poetry - E-mail