See there, the bride sits with so steady face,
And all th' palanquin bearers are her kin
Who carry her to all a brighter race.
The bride sways there, so purified of sin,
And sings a tune o' a melancholy land
But all that she receives is a mere grin.
Her body is placed there as though a stand
Which bears the missive of some new fresh love;
Her spirit hovers in the whirling sand.
She looks round with a sigh-up and above,
Her sunken mind still looks in its own heart-
Her thoughts still float so bright as though a dove.
But it's her destiny so to depart
From her own race to catch the newer cart.