<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=356092" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Maude Clare</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of the church she followed them<br> With a lofty step and mien: <br>His bride was like a village maid, <br> Maude Clare was like a queen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Son Thomas, ” his lady mother said, <br> With smiles, almost with tears: <br>“May Nell and you but live as true<br> As we have done for years; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Your father thirty years ago<br> Had just your tale to tell; <br>But he was not so pale as you, <br> Nor I so pale as Nell.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My lord was pale with inward strife, <br> And Nell was pale with pride; <br>My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare<br> Or ever he kissed the bride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, <br> Have brought my gift, ” she said: <br>To bless the hearth, to bless the board, <br> To bless the marriage-bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Here’s my half of the golden chain<br> You wore about your neck, <br>That day we waded ankle-deep<br> For lilies in the beck: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Here’s my half of the faded leaves<br> We plucked from the budding bough, <br>With feet amongst the lily leaves, -<br> The lilies are budding now.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He strove to match her scorn with scorn, <br> He faltered in his place: <br>“Lady, ” he said, - “Maude Clare, ” he said, -<br> “Maude Clare, ” – and hid his face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She turn’d to Nell: “My Lady Nell, <br> I have a gift for you; <br>Though, were it fruit, the blooms were gone, <br> Or, were it flowers, the dew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Take my share of a fickle heart, <br> Mine of a paltry love: <br>Take it or leave it as you will, <br> I wash my hands thereof.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“And what you leave, ” said Nell, “I’ll take, <br> And what you spurn, I’ll wear; <br>For he’s my lord for better and worse, <br> And him I love Maude Clare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Yea, though you’re taller by the head, <br> More wise and much more fair: <br>I’ll love him till he loves me best, <br> Me best of all Maude Clare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Christina+Georgina+Rossetti">Christina Georgina Rossetti</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=356092" data-title="Maude Clare de Christina Georgina Rossetti" data-description="Out of the church she followed them With a lofty step and mien: His bride was like a village maid, Maude Clare was like a queen. “Son Thomas, ” his lady mother said, With smiles, almost with tears: “May Nell and you but live as true ..."></div> </div> </div>

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