Now!

Her brown hair knew no royal crest,

No gems nor jeweled charms,

No roses her bright cheek caressed,

No lilies kissed her arms.

In simple, modest womanhood

Clad, as was meet, in white,

The fairest flower of all, she stood

Amid the softest light.

It had been worth a perilous quest

To see the court she drew,—

My rose, my gem, my royal crest,

My lily moist with dew;

Worth heaven, when, with farewells from each

The gay throng let us be,

To see her turn at last and reach

Her white hands out to me.