Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WAKEFUL BRIDE, by PERCY STICKNEY GRANT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WAKEFUL BRIDE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The old earl lay in his restless bed
Last Line: The smouldering heart's pent fire.
Subject(s): Love - Age Differences; Old Age; Youth


The old earl lay in his restless bed,
His fair bride by his side.
The young page gazed from the outer tower,
And all their eyes were wide.

Their eyes were wide though the bell had tolled
Long since the midnight hour,
And the moonlight lay as bright as day,
On moat and wall and tower.

For the moonlight slept in the garden-close,
Whence dreamy perfumes blew,
That filled the page with memories,
And wishes vague and new.

Oh! a summer night is as dread as a ghost,
To hearts that lack their desire;
For it tells of death, but it wakes to life
The smouldering heart's pent fire.

The old earl saw a ghost that night,
The ghost of his youth long spent.
Proud tourneys, battles, far crusades,
Before his dim eyes went.

And he thought, -- I would I were that page,
So young, so strong, so gay:
He sleeps like a log the longest night,
And sings like a lark through the day.

But the earl wished only to sleep and forget
The weight of his wrinkled fame,
And the weary days, and the nerveless toil
That guarded his ancient name.

Or he waked and wished for the crimson east,
And the breeze that comes with the dawn;
And the rising mist from meadow and lake,
And to know that the night was gone.

But the page he gazed at the garden-close,
Below the outer tower;
At its moonlit walks, at the bench by the pool,
At the shadowy red-rose bower.

"How strange," he sighed, "that we are here
Beneath the selfsame roof, --
I in my tower, you with the earl --
Yet heaven holds us aloof.

"But youth is youth and age is age,
And I, if I were he,
Would know the joy the angels know,
And join their minstrelsy.

"I'd kneel beside your snowy bed,
And kiss your arms and your hair;
I'd watch by your side till you waked at last,
And smiled to see me there.

"And hand in hand the livelong day,
We'd wander without fear,
In fields and woods, or sit and talk
And laugh to be so near."

Oh! a summer night is as dread as a ghost,
To lovers who lack their desire;
For it tells of death, but it wakes to life
The slumbering heart's pent fire.

And the little bride, the bride of a year,
Lay still, tear-stained and white,
And she thought of the earl and the home she had left,
And she thought of the page so bright.

"Alas!" she thought, "I have flown from the fields
To a cage." Then for fear held her breath.
And the moth that fluttered in from her flowers,
Brushed her face for the face of death.

"Ah me! if a baby gladdened my breast,
Then I like a bird would sing;
And night and day and year upon year,
Each some new joy would bring.

"A boy like the page, yes, that should he be,
So noble and straight and strong.
I'd work for him, I'd fondle him,
Dear God, must I live long?"

Oh! a summer night is as dread as a ghost,
To souls that have missed their desire;
For it tells of death, but it wakes to life
The smouldering heart's pent fire.





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