The girls are getting married to-day;
They are nineteen, or twenty-two.
Their hair is red, under the hats and veils
And don’t their faces shine with Hope?
The attendants couldn’t comb out
Fear crouched in weavy trellises, I guess.
And hark! Here’s Honor
Standing with a manicured hand
On the base of the spines that wind up the aisle
Away from awareness,
Toward sacrifice with no end,
To applause and organs bellowing,