Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/31

12 He took from the cup the golden ring, And he turned it in his hand; He said, “Whoever has sent this charm I cannot her power withstand.”

“Oh she is weary, and sad, and old,” The little page boy replied; But Dermod strode through the startled guests, And stood by his own love's side.

He took her up in his two strong arms, And “Have you come home?” he said, “Twice seven long years I mourned you well As silent among the dead.”

He kissed her twice on her faded cheek, And thrice on her snow-white hair. “And this is my own true wife,” he said To the guests who gathered there.

“Oh she is withered and old,” they cried, “And her hair is pale as snow. 'Twere better you took the fair young girl, And let the sad old love go.”

“I will not marry the fair young girl. No woman I wed but this, The sweet white rose of her cheek,” said he, “Shall redden beneath my kiss.

“There is no beauty in all the land That can with her face compare.” He led her up to the table head. And set her beside him there.