Volume I Part 31 (2/2)

Red rose and white in the garden; My bride! by the angels at night are you led?

And the bird sings over the roses.

I am not led by the angels about: Red rose and white in the garden; But I have a devil within to let out: And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret! my bride and saint!

Red rose and white in the garden; There is on you no earthly taint: And the bird sings over the roses.

I am no saint, and no bride can I be: Red rose and while in the garden; Until I have opened my bosom to thee: And the bird sings over the roses.

To catch at her heart she laid one hand: Red rose and white in the garden; She told the tale where she did stand: And the bird sings over the roses.

She stood before him pale and tall: Red rose and white in the garden; Her eyes between his, she told him all: And the bird sings over the roses.

She saw how her body grow freckled and foul: Red rose and white in the garden; She heard from the woods the hooting owl: And the bird sings over the roses.

With never a quiver her mouth did speak: Red rose and white in the garden; O when she had done she stood so meek!

And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom stamped and called her vile: Red rose and white in the garden; He did but waken a little smile: And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom raged and called her foul: Red rose and white in the garden; She heard from the woods the hooting owl: And the bird sings over the roses.

He muttered a name full bitter and sore: Red rose and white in the garden; She fell in a lump on the still dead floor: And the bird sings over the roses.

O great was the wonder, and loud the wail: Red rose and white in the garden; When through the household flew the tale: And the bird sings over the roses.

The old grey mother she dressed the bier: Red rose and white in the garden; With a s.h.i.+vering chin and never a tear: And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you but done as I bade you, my child!

Red rose and white in the garden; You would not have died and been reviled: And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier: Red rose and white in the garden; He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear: And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you been false as the women who stray: Red rose and white in the garden; You would not be now with the Angels of Day!

And the bird sings over the roses.

MARIAN

I

She can be as wise as we, And wiser when she wishes; She can knit with cunning wit, And dress the homely dishes.

She can flourish staff or pen, And deal a wound that lingers; She can talk the talk of men, And touch with thrilling fingers.

II

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