Part from the windows the small curtains set:

Sight more than light to omit!

Look on the general fields, how bright they lie

Under the broad blue sky,

Cloudless, and the beginning of the heat

Does the sight half ill-treat!

The bride hath wakened.

Lo! she feels her shaking Heart better all her waking!

 

Her breasts are with fear's coldness inward clutched

And more felt on her grown,

That will by hands other than hers be touched

 

And will find lips sucking their budded crown.

Lo! the thought of the bridegroom's hands already

Feels her about where even her hands are shy,

And her thoughts shrink till they become unready

She gathers up her body and still doth lie.

She vaguely lets her eyes feel opening.

In a fringed mist each thing

Looms, and the present day is truly clear

But to her sense of fear.

 

Like a hue, light lies on her lidded sight,

And she half hates the inevitable light.