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Poem	Music and silver chimes and sunlit air, Freighted with the scent of honeyed orange-flower; Glad, friendly festal faces everywhere. She, rapt from all in this unearthly hour, With cloudlike, cast-back veil and faint-flushed cheek, In bridal beauty moves as in a trance Alone with him, and fears to breathe, to speak, Lest the rare, subtle spell dissolve perchance. But he upon that floral head looks down, Noting the misty eyes, the grave sweet brow-- Doubts if her bliss be perfect as his own, And dedicates anew with inward vow His soul unto her service, to repay Richly the sacrifice she yields this day.
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