They round her round and fold each crevice in;

They lift her skirts up, as to tease or woo

The cleft hid thing below;

And this they think at her peeps in their ways

And in their glances plays.

XIII

No more, no more of church or feast, for these

Are outward to the day, like the green trees

That flank the road to church and the same road

Back from the church, under a higher sun trod.

These have no more part than a floor or wall

In the great day's true ceremonial.

The guests themselves, no less than they that wed,

Hold these as nought but corridors to bed.

So are all things, that between this and dark

Will be passed, a dim work

Of minutes, hours seen in a sleep, and dreamed

Untimed and wrongly deemed.

The bridal and the walk back and the feast

Are all for each a mist

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