Page:Trojan Women (Murray 1905).djvu/30

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Blessèd is he that shall wed,

And blessèd, blessèd am I

In Argos: a bride to lie

With a king in a king's bed.

Hail, O Hymen red,

O Torch that makest one!

Weepest thou, Mother mine own?

Surely thy cheek is pale

With tears, tears that wail

For a land and a father dead.

But I go garlanded:

I am the Bride of Desire:

Therefore my torch is borne—

Lo, the lifting of morn,

Lo, the leaping of fire!—

For thee, O Hymen bright,

For thee, O Moon of the Deep,

So Law hath charged, for the light

Of a maid's last sleep.

Awake, O my feet, awake:

Our father's hope is won!

Dance as the dancing skies

Over him, where he lies

Happy beneath the sun!

Lo, the Ring that I make

Apollo! Ah, is it thou?

O shrine in the laurels cold,

I bear thee still, as of old,

Mine incense! Be near to me now.