Maude Clare

Out of the church she followed them With a lofty step and mien: His bride was like a village maid, Maude Clare was like a queen. "Son Thomas," his lady mother said, With smiles, almost with tears: "May Nell and you but live as true As we have done for years; "Your father thirty years ago Had just your tale to tell; But he was not so pale as you, Nor I so pale as Nell." My lord was pale with inward strife, And Nell was pale with pride; My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare Or ever he kissed the bride. "Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,         Have brought my gift," she said: "To bless the hearth, to bless the board,         To bless the marriage-bed. "Here's my half of the golden chain         You wore about your neck, That day we waded ankle-deep         For lilies in the beck: "Here's my half of the faded leaves         We plucked from budding bough, With feet amongst the lily-leaves,--         The lilies are budding now." He strove to match her scorn with scorn,         He faltered in his place: "Lady," he said,--"Maude Clare," he said,--         "Maude Clare":--and hid his face. She turned to Nell: "My Lady Nell,         I have a gift for you; Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone,         Or, were it flowers, the dew. "Take my share of a fickle heart,         Mine of a paltry love: Take it or leave it as you will,         I wash my hands thereof." "And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take,         And what you spurn, I'll wear; For he's my lord for better and worse,         And him I love, Maude Clare. "Yea, though you're taller by the head,         More wise, and much more fair; I'll love him till he loves me best,         Me best of all, Maude Clare."