Page:Flower of youth, poems in war time, Tynan, 1915.djvu/22

20 THE BRIDE

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.