Poem by Edmund William Gosse

Epithalamium

HIGH in the organ-loft, with lilied hair,
Love plied the pedals with his snowy foot,
Pouring forth music like the scent of fruit,
And stirring all the incense-laden air;
We knelt before the altar's gold rail where
The priest stood robed, with chalice and palm-shoot,
With music-men, who bore citole and lute,
Behind us, and the attendant virgins fair;
And so our red aurora flashed to gold,
Our dawn to sudden sun, and all the while
The high-voiced children trebled clear and cold,
The censer-boys went swinging down the aisle,
And far above, with fingers strong and sure,
Love closed our lives' triumphant overture. 

1. The Mænad's Grave
2. At the Play
3. Greece and England
4. With a Copy of Herrick
5. The Bath

John Stagg Epithalamium ("HAIL! Hymen, thou propitious god of joy")

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