And from forest and field, and pasture and garden, and from the
sleeping waters, the dreamy day culled the beauty and the grace, the
perfume and the sweet content, and, floating on to where the bride
awaited her coming, dropped them all, a heavenly dower, upon her
head; wrapped the bright veil caressingly about her; and so passed
on, to lie reclined upon the hills, dreaming in luxurious beauty,
until the night should come, and she should float once more
heavenward.
But the south-west wind lingered a while, kissing the trembling lips
of the bride, fanning her burning cheek, and dallying with the
floating tresses of her hair; then, whispering farewell, he crept
away to hide in the recesses of the wood, and sigh himself to sleep.
"Dora, where are you, love? Do you hide from me today?" called a
voice; and Dora, peeping round the stem of the old oak at whose foot
she sat, said shyly,--
"Do you want me, Tom?"
"Want you, my darling? What else on earth do I want but you? And how
lovely you are to-day, Dora! You never looked like this before."
"It never was my wedding-day before," whispered Dora; and, like the
summer day and the west wind, we will pass on, leaving these our
lovers to their own fond folly, which yet is such wisdom as the
philosophers and the savans can never give us by theory or diagram.
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