Poems (Chitwood)/The Second Bride

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

THE SECOND BRIDE.

My fair, my first, my gentle bride,
 The "day star" of my years,
In early, sunny youth she died,
 Mid sorrow, sadness, tears.
And when her faithful heart was hushed,
 When her sweet lips were cold—
When from her placid brow I brushed
 The wavy curls of gold,
I said, "Beloved, if we must part
 In sadness and in pain,
No power can ever win my heart
 Back to the world again."

Long years sped by of light and gloom,
 Of weary night and day;
I thought the shadows of her tomb
 Had almost passed away.
What "traitors to the past" are we,
 Swept on by time's rough tide,—
A dark-haired gentle girl is she,
 My lovely second bride.
Most beautiful her melting eyes,
 Luxuriant the hair
That curls its massive jetty dyes
 Around the brow so fair.

My home is cheerful now, but oft
 My heart is deeply wrung,
When her sweet voice is singing soft
 The songs another sung.
This morn I saw her forehead flame,
 Her eyes grow dim with tears,
As called I her the gentle name,
 So loved in other years;
On my true heart forever bright
 That dear name sweetly gleams:
I whisper it by day, by night,
 I speak it in my dreams.

Beneath the weeping willow trees,
 Where lute-like music creeps,
'Mid singing birds and humming bees,
 My first bride sweetly sleeps;
My feet will wander to that spot—
 My heart will with her be;
The second bride is dear. but not
 One-halt so dear as she.
And often in my secret hours
 The locket fair I ope,
Where sweeter than the Summer flowers
 She smiles in love and hope;
My tears must fall, howe'er I strive,
 Upon the pictured face,
And my heart still must keep for her
 Its deepest, dearest place.

I sought her lowly grave last night,
 The sky was clear and blue;
Around the head-stone marble white
 Were lilies twined with dew;
My second bride had placed them there:
 My tears fell thick and fast,
As prayed I, in my heart's despair,
 I might forget the past.
Oh! dear, thrice dear, the second bride
 Who charms my household now;
Oh! may I never leave her side,
 Or sadden her fair brow!
Worthy of love she long has proved;
 But vain, 'tis all in vain—
For one who loves as I have loved,
 Can never love again.