Page:Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson, Hitherto unpublished, 1921.djvu/57

 With fearful fluttered hearts we wait—

We meet him, bathed in tears;

We are so loath to leave behind

Those tranquil convent years;

So loath to meet the pang, to take

(On some poor chance of bliss)

Life's labour on the windy sea

For a bower as still as this.

Weeping we mount the crowded aisle,

And weeping after us

The bridesmaids follow—Come to me!

I will not meet you thus,

Pale rider to the convent gate.

Come, O rough bridegroom, Death,

Where, bashful bride, I wait you, veiled,

Flush-faced, with shaken breath;

I do not fear your kiss. I dream

New days, secure from strife,

And, bride-like, in the future hope—

A quiet household life. [ 49 ]