The Thorn Bush

There is a thorn bush, deep in a glade,

Where none have seen it, living or dead;

And over it a gown is spread:

A gown of red, with gilt brocade.

They say the gown is made of blood;

They say the gilt is angels’ hair;

They say its gleam has lingered there,

Undimming, since before the Flood.

But look! A maid approaches now,

Where never mortal came before;

Not dreaming of what lies in store,

She wanders where the woods allow;

And now she stops, and mutely stares,

The red gown filling up her sight –

A thing to fill her with delight

And banish all her earthly cares.

She takes a step, and then two more,

And then her fingers graze the hem,

Which sends a tremor into them

That thrills her to the very core.

The gown fills up, as if with air,

And lifts upon a ghostly breeze;

It hovers there, amid the trees,

Then lowers towards her shining hair;

With fairy slowness, inch by inch,

It covers her from neck to toe,

By what strange power she does not know;

She hears no sound, and feels no pinch;

And when at last the thing is done,

The maid stands all in gold and red –

Resplendent, she, from heel to head,

And glowing like the morning sun.

Then, only then, she hears a voice,

Which seems to come from earth and stone,

And speaks to her as one well-known:

“ ’Tis time, my dear, you made your choice.

“Will you live here, and be my queen,

And rule this forest by my side?

You’d make a most enchanting bride,

And I a bridegroom fond and keen.

“Will you forsake your mortal life,

And live eternally with me?

Your lot on earth is misery;

But say the word, and end all strife.”

And at this last, a man appeared,

As perfect as was ever made,

Making a splendor in the glade –

A splendor she both loved and feared.

“O, fairy man,” the poor maid cried,

“How gladly I would be your wife!

How soon give up my drearful life

And live eternal by your side!

“But I am promised to a man –

A good man, though I love him not –

And since my dam no liar begot,

I’ll marry him, if ever I can.”

These words once said, the spell was broke;

The man was gone, the dress gone too;

The maid was bathed in morning dew;

As if from slumber, she awoke.

The sturdy groom was beaming-glad

The day their marriage vow was blessed,

And never knew – but partly guessed –

How true a wife he truly had.