Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/376

 They'll take thee away from these arms, love, And bury thy blossoming charms, love, Where midnight requiems swell.

At the high altar I see thee kneel, With pallid and awe-struck face; I see the veil those looks conceal That shone with surpassing grace— The shade will prey on thy bloom, my love, While I shall wend to the tomb, my love, And leave of my name no trace.

We lov'd and we grew, we grew and we lov'd, Twin flowers in a dewy vale; The churchman's cold hand hath one remov'd, The other will soon wax pale; O fast will be its decline, my love, As this dying note of mine, my love, Lost in the evening gale!