arriage is a foreign place
Alone I walk the paths I take
No hand to hold, no vow to make
No orange blossom, tulle or lace.
Though Wedlock is a holy land
No anchorite is welcome there -
Admittance only to the pair
United by a golden band
My pilgrim soul will find its home,
As bird its nest and wolf its lair.
Through forest shade, ‘neath cliffs of stone,
The lanes of Freedom I shall roam
And solitary, soujourn where
It is not lonely to be lone