Trothplight

[ For the Golden Wedding of a Husband thirty-seven years blind .]

I BROUGHT her home, my bonny bride,
Just fifty years ago;
Her eyes were bright,
Her step was light,
Her voice was sweet and low.

In April was our wedding-day,
The maiden month, you know,
Of tears and smiles,
And wilful wiles,
And flowers that spring from snow.

My love cast down her dear, dark eyes
As if in fain would hide
From my fond sight
Her own delight,
Half shy yet happy bride.

But blushes told the tale, instead,
As plain as words could speak
In dainty red
That overspread
My darling's dainty cheek.

For twice six years and more I watched
Her fairer grow each day, —
My babes were blest
Upon her breast,
And she was pure as they.

And then an angel touched my eyes,
And turned my day to night,
That fading charms
Or time's alarms
Might never vex my sight.

Thus sitting in the dark I see
My darling as of yore, —
With blushing face
And winsome grace,
Unchanged, for evermore.

Full fifty years of young and fair!
To her I pledge my vow
Whose spring-time grace
And April face
Have lasted until now.
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