Songs, Merry and Sad

Now!

     Her brown hair knew no royal crest,
      No gems nor jeweled charms,
     No roses her bright cheek caressed,
      No lilies kissed her arms.
     In simple, modest womanhood
      Clad, as was meet, in white,
     The fairest flower of all, she stood
      Amid the softest light.

     It had been worth a perilous quest
      To see the court she drew,—
     My rose, my gem, my royal crest,
      My lily moist with dew;
     Worth heaven, when, with farewells from each
      The gay throng let us be,
     To see her turn at last and reach
      Her white hands out to me.