Poems (Chandler)/Trothplight

by Louise Chandler Moulton

TROTHPLIGHT.

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

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 she 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.