The Invisible Bride

Edwin Markham

The low-voiced girls that go
 In gardens of the Lord,
Like flowers of the field they grow
 In sisterly accord.
Their whispering feet are white
 Along the leafy ways;
They go in whirls of light
 Too beautiful for praise.
And in their band forsooth
 Is one to set me free —
The one that touched my youth —
 The one God gave to me.
She kindles the desire
 Whereby the gods survive —
The white ideal fire
 That keeps my soul alive.
Now at the wondrous hour,
 She leaves her star supreme,
And comes in the night's still power,
 To touch me with a dream.
Sibyl of mystery
 On roads unknown to men,
Softly she comes to me,
 And goes to God again.