An Easter Bride

A bride, sweet Lord, on this Easter morn!
A pale, a breathless bride,
Here waits thee, Christ of the Cross and Thorn,
While bells ring far and wide.
They chime for the brides of Earth, O Lord,
Whose hearts are thrilled with cheer,
For her is throbbing an angel's chord
Thy fair dead bride that's here.
Bright sunbeams dapple her bridal shroud,
They flit with glad unrest,
Now over the cold face saintly browed,
Now over the pulseless breast.
No lily that nods in that Easter light
More pure than she who lies
In her sunlit robe of snowy white
With dark-lashed, calm, closed eyes.
I have but closed them a moment's space,
Folding her poor, white hands,
Brushing stray raven locks from her face,
And stand as Sorrow stands.
Last night I saw by the taper's ray
Her eyes of liquid brown
Gleam longing as praying the Easter day
Would bring the bridal crown.
I watched her dream as the lingering dawn
Came gray and bleak and cold,
Black tresses back from the white face drawn--
Her face of purest mold,
Too lovely, Lord, for a mortal s bliss,
Too sweet to soil with tears,
Yea to be flecked with a bridegroom s kiss
Or traced with lines of years.
Was it prayer or pain on her trembling lip
As morn at last burned red,
When I saw the clasped hands part and slip,
And bowed her perfect head?
Over my bosom her dark hair strayed,
Ever her face more wan,
Till the Easter Sun on the waters played,
And night from the world had gone.
Faint tinklings of harps on the blithe air thrill,
The portals have opened wide;
She dreams, she sleeps in a sleep that is still,
God s breathless, Easter bride.