Classic Poem

Thought it be blither than roses in thine eyes,
Shall I not rend this raiment of pangs and fears,
This Colchian cloth white flames ensorcelise,
This gaudy-veil distained with blood and tears?--
What praise? "O marriage-beauty garlanded
For festival, O sumptuous flowery stole
For rites of adoration!"--See instead
A cilice drenched with torment of my soul!
Nevertheless the fibres implicate
Proud exultations; burning, have revealed
Rich throes of triumph, sweetness passionate
As painèd lilies reared in thorn-plots yield.
Ah! silver wedding-garment of the bride,
Ah! fiery cilice, I am satisfied!