Explore "Maurine" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There was a week of bustle and of hurry; / A stately home echoed to voices sweet, / Calling, replying; and to tripping feet / Of busy bridesmaids, running to and fro, / With all that girlish fluttering and flurry / Preceding such occasions.
Helen's room / Was like a lily-garden, all in bloom, / Decked with the dainty robes of her trousseau. / My robe was fashioned by swift, skilful hands- / A thing of beauty, elegant and rich, / A mystery of loopings, puffs and bands; / And as I watched it growing, stitch by stitch, / I felt as one might feel who should behold / With vision trance-like, where his body lay / In deathly slumber, simulating clay, / His grave-cloth sewed together, fold on fold.