The Widowed Bridegroom

The widow'd Bridegroom sought the winter wood
At eve, for Mary's vows were plighted there:
When, as beneath the wild-rose arch she stood,
He lovingly unwound her golden hair.
The sun had set, the night was cold and still:
There was no stir amongst the leafless trees:
No voices from the hamlet or the hill
Disturb'd his clear and silent memories.
And so he mused and brooded o'er the past:
He lived an hour with Mary's bygone sighs
And smiles; he re-invoked her dear replies.
But, when he left the hallow'd spot at last,
He kiss'd the night-frost from the dusky spray,
Where bloom'd the wild-rose of their trysting day.