The Invisible Bride

 THE low-voiced girls that go 
In gardens of the Lord, 
Like flowers of the field they grow 
In sisterly accord. 

Their whispering feet are white 
Along the leafy ways; 
They go in whirls of light 
Too beautiful for praise. 

And in their band forsooth 
Is one to set me free-- 
The one that touched my youth-- 
The one God gave to me. 

She kindles the desire 
Whereby the gods survive-- 
The white ideal fire 
That keeps my soul alive. 

Now at the wondrous hour, 
She leaves her star supreme, 
And comes in the night’s still power, 
To touch me with a dream. 

Sibyl of mystery 
On roads unknown to men, 
Softly she comes to me, 
And goes to God again.

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