Malade - Free Audiobook

THE BRIDE

MY love looks like a girl to-night,
           But she is old.
     The plaits that lie along her pillow
           Are not gold,
     But threaded with filigree,
           And uncanny cold.

     She looks like a young maiden, since her brow
           Is smooth and fair,
     Her cheeks are very smooth, her eyes are closed,
           She sleeps a rare
     Still winsome sleep, so still, and so composed.

     Nay, but she sleeps like a bride, and dreams her
                dreams
           Of perfect things.
     She lies at last, the darling, in the shape of her dream,
           And her dead mouth sings
     By its shape, like the thrushes in clear evenings.