Blossom-Time

There's a wedding in the orchard, dear
I know it by the flowers:
They're wreathed on every bough and branch
Or falling down in showers.

The air is in a mist I think,
And scarce knows which to be -
Whether all fragrance, clinging close,
Or birdsong, wild and free.

And countless wedding jewels shine,
And golden gifts of grace:
I never saw such wealth of sun
In any shady place.

It seemed I heard the flutt'ring robes
Of maidens clad in white,
The clasping of a thousand hands
In tenderest delight;

While whispers ran among the boughs
Of promises and praise;
And playful, loving messages
Sped through the leaf-lit ways.

And just beyond the wreathed aisles
That end against the blue,
The raiment of the wedding choir
And priest came shining through.

And though I saw no wedding guest
Nor groom, nor gentle bride
I know that holy things were asked
And holy love replied.

And something through the sunlight said:
"Let all who love be blest!
The Earth is wedded to the Spring -
And God, He knoweth best."

© Mary E. Dodge