And so she moved under the bridal veil,
Which made the paleness of her cheek more pale,
And deepened the faint crimson of her mouth, 15
And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth,—­
And of the gold and jewels glittering there
She scarce felt conscious,—­but the weary glare
Lay like a chaos of unwelcome light,
Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight, 20
A moonbeam in the shadow of a cloud
Was less heavenly fair—­her face was bowed,
And as she passed, the diamonds in her hair
Were mirrored in the polished marble stair
Which led from the cathedral to the street; 25
And ever as she went her light fair feet
Erased these images.

The bride-maidens who round her thronging came,
Some with a sense of self-rebuke and shame,
Envying the unenviable; and others
Making the joy which should have been another’s 30
Their own by gentle sympathy; and some
Sighing to think of an unhappy home: 
Some few admiring what can ever lure
Maidens to leave the heaven serene and pure
Of parents’ smiles for life’s great cheat; a thing 35
Bitter to taste, sweet in imagining.

But they are all dispersed—­and, lo! she stands
Looking in idle grief on her white hands,
Alone within the garden now her own; 40
And through the sunny air, with jangling tone,
The music of the merry marriage-bells,
Killing the azure silence, sinks and swells;—­
Absorbed like one within a dream who dreams
That he is dreaming, until slumber seems 45
A mockery of itself—­when suddenly
Antonio stood before her, pale as she. 
With agony, with sorrow, and with pride,
He lifted his wan eyes upon the bride,
And said—­’Is this thy faith?’ and then as one 50
Whose sleeping face is stricken by the sun
With light like a harsh voice, which bids him rise
And look upon his day of life with eyes
Which weep in vain that they can dream no more,
Ginevra saw her lover, and forbore 55
To shriek or faint, and checked the stifling blood
Rushing upon her heart, and unsubdued
Said—­’Friend, if earthly violence or ill,
Suspicion, doubt, or the tyrannic will
Of parents, chance or custom, time or change, 60
Or circumstance, or terror, or revenge,
Or wildered looks, or words, or evil speech,
With all their stings and venom can impeach
Our love,—­we love not:—­if the grave which hides
The victim from the tyrant, and divides 65
The cheek that whitens from the eyes that dart
Imperious inquisition to the heart
That is another’s, could dissever ours,
We love not.’—­’What! do not