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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING; OR, TEN YEARS AFTER, by ALEXANDER SMITH Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: The country ways are full of mire Last Line: And die into my wedding day. Subject(s): Marriage; Weddings; Husbands; Wives | |||
THE country ways are full of mire, The boughs toss in the fading light, The winds blow out the sunset's fire, And sudden droppeth down the night. I sit in this familiar room, Where mud-splashed hunting squires resort; My sole companion in the gloom This slowly dying pint of port. 'Mong all the joys my soul hath known, 'Mong errors over which it grieves. I sit at this dark hour alone, Like Autumn 'mid his withered leaves. This is a night of wild farewells To all the past, the good, the fair; To-morrow, and my wedding bells Will make a music in the air. Like a wet fisher tempest-tost, Who sees throughout the weltering night Afar on some low-lying coast The streaming of a rainy light, I saw this hour, -- and now 'tis come; The rooms are lit, the feast is set; Within the twilight I am dumb, My heart filled with a vague regret. I cannot say, in Eastern style, Where'er she treads the pansy blows, Nor call her eyes twin-stars, her smile A sunbeam, and her mouth a rose. Nor can I, as your bridegrooms do, Talk of my raptures. O, how sore The fond romance of twenty-two Is parodied ere thirty-four! To-night I shake hands with the past, -- Familiar years, adieu, adieu! An unknown door is open cast, An empty future wide and new Stands waiting. O, ye naked rooms, Void, desolate, without a charm! Will love's smile chase your lonely glooms, And drape your walls, and make them warm The man who knew while he was young, Some soft and soul-subduing air, Melts when again he hears it sung, Although 'tis only half so fair. So love I thee, and love is sweet, (My Florence, 'tis the cruel truth) Because it can to age repeat That long-lost passion of my youth. O, often did my spirit melt, Blurred letters, o'er your artless rhymes! Fair trees, in which the sunshine dwelt, I've kissed thee many a million times! And now 'tis done. -- My passionate tears, Mad pleadings with an iron fate, And all the sweetness of my years, Are blackened ashes in the grate. Then ring in the wind, my wedding chimes; Smile, villagers, at every door; Old churchyard, stuffed with buried crimes, Be clad in sunshine, o'er and o'er; And youthful maidens, white and sweet, Scatter your blossoms far and wide; And with a bridal chorus greet This happy bridegroom and his bride. "This happy bridegroom!" there is sin At bottom of my thankless mood: What if desert alone could win For me life's chiefest grace and good! Love gives itself, and if not given, No genius, beauty, state, nor wit, No gold of earth, no gem of heaven, Is rich enough to purchase it. It may be, Florence, loving thee, My heart will its old memories keep; Like some worn sea-shell from the sea, Filled with the music of the deep. And you may watch, on nights of rain, A shadow on my brow encroach; Be startled by my sudden pain, And tenderness of self-reproach. It may be that your loving wiles Will call a sigh from far-off years; It may be that your happiest smiles Will brim my eyes with hopeless tears; It may be that my sleeping breath Will shake, with painful visions wrung; And, in the awful trance of death, A stranger's name be on my tongue. Ye phantoms, born of bitter blood, Ye ghosts of passion, lean and worn, Ye terrors of a lonely mood, What do you here on a wedding morn? For, as the dawning sweet and fast Through all the heaven spreads and flows, Within life's discord, rude and vast, Love's subtle music grows and grows. And lightened is the heavy curse, And clearer is the weary road; The very worm the sea-weeds nurse Is cared for by the eternal God. My love, pale blossom of the snow, Has pierced earth wet with wintry showers, -- O may it drink the sun, and blow, And be followed by all the year of flowers! Black Bayard from the stable bring; The rain is o'er, the wind is down; Round stirring farms the birds will sing, The dawn stand in the sleeping town, Within an hour. This is her gate, Her sodden roses droop in night, And -- emblem of my happy fate -- In one dear window there is light. The dawn is oozing pale and cold Through the damp east for many a mile; When half my tale of life is told Grim-featured Time begins to smile. Last star of night that lingerest yet In that long rift of rainy gray, Gather thy wasted splendors, set, And die into my wedding day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BLESSING FOR A WEDDING by JANE HIRSHFIELD A SUITE FOR MARRIAGE by DAVID IGNATOW ADVICE TO HER SON ON MARRIAGE by MARY BARBER THE RABBI'S SON-IN-LAW by SABINE BARING-GOULD KISSING AGAIN by DORIANNE LAUX |
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