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.