My Bride That Is To Be
O soul of mine, look out and see
My bride, my bride that is to be!
Reach out with mad, impatient hands,
And draw aside futurity
As one might draw a veil aside--
And so unveil her where she stands
Madonna-like and glorified--
The queen of undiscovered lands
Of love, to where she beckons me--
My bride--my bride that is to be.
The shadow of a willow-tree
That wavers on a garden-wall
In summertime may never fall
In attitude as gracefully
As my fair bride that is to be;--
Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown
As lightly flutter to the lawn
As fall her fairy-feet upon
The path of love she loiters down.--
O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet
Not one may stain her sandal wet--
Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way
Nor crush a single drop to spray,
So airy-like she seems to me,--
My bride, my bride that is to be.
I know not if her eyes are light
As summer skies or dark as night,--
I only know that they are dim
With mystery: In vain I peer
To make their hidden meaning clear,
While o'er their surface, like a tear
That ripples to the silken brim,
A look of longing seems to swim
All worn and wearylike to me;
And then, as suddenly, my sight
Is blinded with a smile so bright,
Through folded lids I still may see
My bride, my bride that is to be.
Her face is like a night of June
Upon whose brow the crescent-moon
Hangs pendant in a diadem
Of stars, with envy lighting them.--
And, like a wild cascade, her hair
Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist,
Till only through a gleaming mist
I seem to see a siren there,
With lips of love and melody
And open arms and heaving breast
Wherein I fling myself to rest,
The while my heart cries hopelessly
For my fair bride that is to be....
Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes!
My bride hath need of no disguise.--
But, rather, let her come to me
In such a form as bent above
My pillow when in infancy
I knew not anything but love.--
O let her come from out the lands
Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,--
And let her come with Woman's hands
And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,--
With Woman's hopefulness and grace
Of patience lighting up her face:
And let her diadem be wrought
Of kindly deed and prayerful thought,
That ever over all distress
May beam the light of cheerfulness.--
And let her feet be brave to fare
The labyrinths of doubt and care,
That, following, my own may find
The path to Heaven God designed.--
O let her come like this to me--
My bride--my bride that is to be.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
A Mirage
Were I thy bride,
Then the whole world beside
Were not too wide
To hold my wealth of love -
Were I thy bride!
Upon thy breast
My loving head would rest,
As on her nest
The tender turtle-dove -
Were I thy bride!
This heart of mine
Would be one heart with thine,
And in that shrine
Our happiness would dwell -
Were I thy bride!
And all day long
Our lives should be a song:
No grief, no wrong
Should make my heart rebel -
Were I thy bride!
The silvery flute,
The melancholy lute,
Were night-owl's hoot
To my low-whispered coo -
Were I thy bride!
The skylark's trill
Were but discordance shrill
To the soft thrill
Of wooing as I'd woo -
Were I thy bride!
The rose's sigh
Were as a carrion's cry
To lullaby
Such as I'd sing to thee -
Were I thy bride!
A feather's press
Were leaden heaviness
To my caress.
But then, unhappily,
I'm not thy bride!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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We Are To Play The Game Of Death
WE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.
The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.
We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.
We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.
My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.
Long have I served her tenderly.
I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.
I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.
She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.
Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.
The push of death has swung her into life.
We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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I Remember
It was my bridal night I remember,
An old man of seventy-three
I lay with my young bride in my arms,
A girl with t.b.
It was wartime, and overhead
The Germans were making a particularly heavy raid on Hampstead.
Harry, do they ever collide?
I do not think it has ever happened,
Oh my bride, my bride.
poem by Stevie Smith
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The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride
Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?
See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not over-
hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the court-
yard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.
Have no words with him if your are
shy.
Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?
Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?
Let your work be!
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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My Bride And God
LO AND BEHOLD!
I AM GRIEVED AND AFFLICTED,
WOE IS ME FOR MY LOVE'S SAKE,
MY WOE IS MY BRIDE!
LO AND BEHOLD,
MY BRIDE SERVES GOD,
AND GOD IS MY ENEMY,
CANS'T MY BRIDE THEN BE MY LOVE?
FOR SHE SERVETH A BEING THAT SEEKS TO ENSLAVE ME FOR ETERNITY,
AND MAKE ME A MOCKERY FOR IT'S PLEASURES SAKE,
LO, THUS I HAVE LIVED IN FALSEHOOD WITH AN ENEMY,
LO, MY BRIDE IS THUS MY ENEMY!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Seaga
New light and new love,
Gifts for the bride price to keep me awake;
But i am well advanced in age.
A man must pay a price for a bride,
And i am Seaga in your neighbourhood;
For a price must be paid for a wife.
Come to me and let me show you my abode,
For my peaceful home will guide you on;
And i want you to be my bride.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Suttee
GATHER her raven hair in one rich cluster,
Let the white champac light it, as a star
Gives to the dusky night a sudden lustre,
Shining afar.
Shed fragrant oils upon her fragrant bosom,
Until the breathing air around grows sweet;
Scatter the languid jasmine's yellow blossom
Beneath her feet.
Those small white feet are bare—too soft are they
To tread on aught but flowers; and there is roll'd
Round the slight ankle, meet for such display,
The band of gold.
Chains and bright stones are on her arms and neck;
What pleasant vanities are linked with them,
Of happy hours, which youth delights to deck
With gold and gem.
She comes! So comes the Moon, when she has found
A silvery path wherein thro' heaven to glide.
Fling the white veil—a summer cloud—around;
She is a bride!
And yet the crowd that gather at her side
Are pale, and every gazer holds his breath.
Eyes fill with tears unbidden, for the bride—
The bride of Death!
She gives away the garland from her hair,
She gives the gems that she will wear no more;
All the affections, whose love-signs they were,
Are gone before.
The red pile blazes—let the bride ascend,
And lay her head upon her husband's heart,
Now in a perfect unison to blend—
No more to part.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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For The Final Time
For the final time
I will not be your bride
Please know that I am sorry
however I don't feel inside
the same way you claim to about me
I dropped my heart
Lost it along the way
A person who isn't Smart
Or maybe just isn't looking hard enough
To find a place to start
Feeling
So I plead with you
for the finally time
Do not ask me to be your bride
to do so would be a crime
of passion against
my heartless soul
craving romance like a drug
burning through it like coal
for the grand finally
I need a volunteer
someone who will let me cut them open
without a single tear
and that is why
I cannot be your bride
poem by Svanhildur Njálsdóttir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Ring Upon Her Finger
A ring upon her finger,
Walks the bride,
With the bridegroom tall and handsome
At her side.
A veil upon her forehead
Walks the bride,
With the bridegroom proud and merry
At her side.
Fling flowers beneath the footsteps
Of the bride;
Fling flowers before the bridegroom
At her side.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The time
Wedding was over;
Brought home was the bride,
With whom came a maid,
To serve her as an aid.
Days rolled;
As honey, appeared the bride;
As savour, moved about the maid,
As a rule, in a household.
Time lapsed;
The bride shed her charm
And the maid ruled calm
In their wait at the groom.
Event happened;
The groom went blasé
With the honey in use
And the savour was in wait for use.
Fate played;
The bride in the race ran first
But the maid ended first.
The bride was aghast.
It is a game;
The diminutive waxes;
The gigantic wanes
In the field of time.
07.04.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Loved The Sea.
Once ago I loved the sea
And as I did, it loved me
But I found another love for me
And she became my bride to be
We were as happy as can be
Unlike my old love, the sea
She was meant for me
But she did not like it that sea
So she sent a storm for me
But got my bride to be
I must love the sea
Or it will keep coming after me
That evil sea
She is happy that sea
As happy as me
When I had my bride to be
I’ll never be
Happy as can be
When my bride to be
Is with that evil sea
poem by Leo Conway
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Braid the Raven Hair
Braid the raven hair,
Weave the supple tress,
Deck the maiden fair
In her loveliness;
Paint the pretty face,
Dye the coral lip,
Emphasise the grace
Of her ladyship!
Art and nature, thus allied,
Go to make a pretty bride!
Sit with downcast eye,
Let it brim with dew;
Try if you can cry,
We will do so, too.
When you're summoned, start
Like a frightened roe;
Flutter, little heart,
Colour, come and go!
Modesty at marriage tide
Well becomes a pretty bride!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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My Sweet Bride
Come walk with me my sweet bride,
If need be along life's tempest side.
Through howling storms and fury's edge,
Against it's might I would be your strong hedge.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Through meadows far to beautiful to hide.
Where nature blankets every ripple and hill,
Will the glorious golden daffodil.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Hand in hand through life with pride.
You with the man of your heart.
And me with you, my work of art.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Where life's sand storms collide.
Across deserts where life dare not go.
With you in hand, this becomes gentle snow.
Come walk with me my sweet bride,
With love now matured we share a hearth-side.
With my strong arm around your slim waist.
We'll hold each other steady in a love chaste.
R. K. Hart 15/11/12
Bridegroom
Pity, O Bridegroom,
The perilous joy of the bride!
In the searching lights of her eyes,
In the fugitive flush of her cheeks,
In the fainting pink of her palm,
In the speed-mad pulse of her wrist,
In the throb and flight of her heart,
In the lifting foam of her breasts,
In her pale, excited smile,--
A dim flame, blown in a wind,--
See the perilous happiness,
Hid in the blood of your bride.
Eve alone
Of the generations of women,
Lacked the perilous joy of the bride.
Fully innocent, fully ignorant,
Gurgled her sweet child-laughter.
But to her daughters,
Down to the wayward moderns,
Whispers and echoes what she learned
From giving her secret self,
From giving her red rose heart,
From giving her cream rose breast,
From giving her crystal dreams,--
Dividing her trinity,
Her soul and her flesh and her mind,
With Adam.
So began, O Bridegroom,
The perilous happiness,
A bubble, ready to break,
A sphere made of colors alone,
Your bride with her searching eyes
Holds out to your snatching hands.
poem by Katherine W. McCluskey
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Marriage Is Sacred
‘Give me your hand that I may walk
In the light of faith you invest in me.’
Shows the groom to the bride by his look.
‘Take my hand that I may walk
In the path of love you install in me.’
Nods the bride to the groom in silence.
(15.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Austerity Of Poetry
That son of Italy who tried to blow,
Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song,
In his light youth amid a festal throng
Sate with his bride to see a public show.
Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow
Youth like a star; and what to youth belong--
Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong.
A prop gave way! crash fell a platform! lo,
'Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay!
Shuddering, they drew her garments off--and found
A robe of sackcloth next the smooth, white skin.
Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse! young, gay,
Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground
Of thought and of austerity within.
poem by Matthew Arnold
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Not A Bit - All Of It
Hysteria and insomnia
Stress, neurosis
Please give a better impression with clever use of cosmetics
Amang others at this very happy wedding
Were mr. and mrs [peep]
The bride looked very pretty
Wearing a dress of old lace, designed by [peep]
Last week I had been to this beautiful memorial service held at [peep]
For the late [peep]
Laaaa, la da dia haoo ...
This man is a professional singer
We think his voice will develop
La, lala lala lalala
Here is the bride
La la la la la la la la
Holy bright
Tra la la la la la la la
Not a bit
La la la la la la la la
All of it
Here is the bride
La la la la la la la la
Holy bright
Tra la la la la
Not a bit
All of it
I made myself interesting again today
Obviously
song performed by by Vangelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alaskan Balladry, No.1
The Northland reared his hoary head
And spied the Southland leagues away-
'Fairest of all fair brides,' he said,
'Be thou my bride, I pray!'
Whereat the Southland laughed and cried:
'I'll bide beside my native sea,
And I shall never be thy bride
Till thou com'st wooing me!'
The Northland's heart was a heart of ice,
A diamond glacier, mountain high-
Oh, love is sweet at any price,
As well know you and I!
So gayly the Northland took his heart
And cast it in the wailing sea-
'Go, thou, with all thy cunning art,
And woo my bride for me!'
For many a night and for many a day,
And over the leagues that rolled between,
The true-heart messenger sped away
To woo the Southland queen.
But the sea wailed loud, and the sea wailed long,
While ever the Northland cried in glee:
'Oh, thou shalt sing us our bridal song,
When comes my bride, O sea!'
At the foot of the Southland's golden throne
The heart of the Northland ever throbs-
For that true-heart speaks in the waves that moan,
The songs that it sings are sobs.
Ever the Southland spurns the cries
Of the messenger pleading the Northland's part;
The summer shines in the Southland's eyes-
The winter bides in her heart!
And ever unto that far-off place
Which love doth render a hallowed spot,
The Northland turneth his honest face
And wonders she cometh not.
The sea wails loud, and the sea wails long,
As the ages of waiting drift slowly by,
But the sea shall sing no bridal song-
As well know you and I!
poem by Eugene Field
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So tender [Atât de fragedă]
You are so tender, just like when
The cherry blossom is pure, white
And like an angel among men
Into my life you come in sight.
You barely touch the rug below
The silk is rustling at your feet
And as you walk, from head to toe,
You float like eagles in the heat.
Out of your pleated dress you rise
Like a white marble and I'm struck...
My soul clings quickly to your eyes,
So full of tears and of good luck.
Oh, happy dream of love with style
Bride from old stories, little star,
Stop smiling! For your pretty smile
Reveals how beautiful you are.
How can you, with the charm of night,
Darken my eyes with so much grace,
And with your whispers, hot and light,
And with the chill of your embrace?
A thought is passing, I remark,
A wave upon your fervent eyes:
It's the surrender, deep and dark,
Shadow of lust that gently cries.
You go away; I comprehend,
To follow you is a vain goal,
You're lost for ever, it's the end,
O, dearest bride of my poor soul!
I saw you, it's my fault all right,
My heart forgiveness now withstands,
I'll expiate my dream of light
Reaching my hand for desert lands.
And like an icon you'll appear
Of Mary, for whom people yearn,
Wearing the crown on your head dear -
Where do you go? When you return?
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Bride Colored With Blood
In our country Parents feel proud.
When their daughter becomes not yet thirteen years old (poor kid)
Instead Of educating her mind to study to become successful one
They begine to tell her how beautiful bride she will become at the dress of bride
And soon their wish becomes real
And the poor kid becomes a bride
She leaves away her pride
Her dreams bright when she wears the white
White dress colored with blood
Leaving behind dreams of purple future
Her childish pure dreams
Her innocency
She enters the groove of cruelty
when she is still alive!
.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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