Maude Clare

Out of the church she followed themWith 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 trueAs we have done for years;

"Your father thirty years agoHad 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 ClareOr 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 chainYou wore about your neck,That day we waded ancle-deepFor lilies in the beck:

"Here's my half of the faded leavesWe 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 turn'd 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."