Poetry Archives

‘Rise,’ said the Master, ‘come unto the feast.’
She heard the call and rose with willing feet;
  But thinking it not otherwise than meet
For such a bidding to put on her best,
She is gone from us for a few short hours
  Into her bridal closet, there to wait
  For the unfolding of the palace gate
That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers.
We have not seen her yet, though we have been
  Full often to her chamber door, and oft
Have listen’d underneath the postern green,
  And laid fresh flowers, and whisper’d short and soft.
But she hath made no answer, and the day
From the clear west is fading fast away.