The Bride
Katharine Tynan 1861 (Ireland) – 1931
WEAVE me no wreath of orange blossom,
No bridal white shall me adorn;
I wear a red rose in my bosom;
To-morrow I shall wear the thorn.
Bring me no gauds to deck my beauty,
Put by the jewels and the lace;
My love to honour and to duty
Was plighted ere he saw my face.
I hear his impatient charger neighing,
I hear the trumpets blow afar!
His comrades ride, as to a Maying,
Jesting and splendid to the war.
Why is my lady-mother weeping?
Why is my father grievèd sore?
Oh, love, God have you in His keeping,
The day you leave your true-love's door.
Gay is the golden harvest spreading,
The orchard's all in rose and gold;
Who said it was a mournful wedding?
My hand in yours, Love, is not cold.
Go glad and gay to meet the foeman,
I love you to my latest breath;
Oh, love, there is no happier woman.
See, I am smiling! Love-till death!
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 50 sec read
- 51 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABAB CDCD EXEF EFEF EGEG BHXH |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 819 |
Words | 165 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
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"The Bride" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 23 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/25016/the-bride>.
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