  Weave no more the marriage-chain! All unmated is the lover; Death has ta'en the place of Pain; Love doth call on Love in vain: Life and years of hope are over! No more want of marriage-bell! No more need of bridal favor! Where is she to wear them well? You beside the lover tell! Gone,—with all the love he gave her! Paler than the stone she lies; Colder than the winter's morning! Wherefore did she thus despise (She with pity in her eyes) Mother's care and lover's warning? Youth and beauty,—shall they not Last beyond a brief to-morrow? No: a prayer, and then forgot! This the truest lover's lot; This the sum of human sorrow! Bryan Waller Procter. |
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