To Constance. On Her Wedding Day

Of all thy dowered jewels none so fair
As those that on thy bride-hand thou shalt wear.
Faith, Hope and Love illume the ring s pure gold,
And in the keeper, Constancy behold.
For these are thine by royal right of race
That looks the past and future in the face:
That yielded not in hours of strain and stress,
That clearer shone in fortune's close caress.
Lo, as thou kneel'st will come from out the East
Fair signs and portents to thy wedding feast:
The stars of olden years will lend their rays,
The April blossoms of long-vanished days,
Yea, ev'ry flow'r that to the breeze replies
And nods in springtime laughter to the skies
Primrose and cowslip, snowdrop, daffodil
Will waft their scents from Irish rath and hill;
Pale moonlight from old Erin's dim green vales,
And sunlight from her seas alive with sails.
Fleet fairy fancies from her elfin throng
With echoes of her wind-swept harp and song.