by Jean Campbell
On a beautiful Colorado day, the glorious sounds of song arose from a small country church. Pure and inspired, the harmonious notes were bourne on the afternoon breeze upward to the listening heavens. The congregation sat entranced as the voice of the lovely voice of the singer, Grace, presented her gift in song:
"A man and
woman pledge to love forever,
To give their hands, their hopes, and their hearts;
They kneel and ask God for His blessing
Upon their union as their marriage starts...
And with God's love they face the life before them
To share the tears and pain and joy to come,
For marriage is a blessed, Holy Sacrament
When man and woman pledge and become as one."
Tune: Danny Boy
The melodious notes of the hymn lingered in the hush of the simple sanctuary, lingered in the hearts of the kneeling couple. Sunlight streamed through the wavy-glass church windows, illuminating with gold the wooden altar and the kneeling man and woman. As Reverend Johnson intoned the wedding ceremony, the townspeople watched with curiosity, pleasure and other emotions. Loren glowered at Jake sitting beside Dorothy although he also sat beside her. Horace and Myra held hands, dreaming of their own future wedding.
Lovely in a summery pink dress, Colleen held Michaela's bouquet, wondering if she would stand in the church one day with someone now in the congregation and repeat the same beloved vows.
A handsome best man, Matthew sneaked glances at shy Ingrid, who, blushingly hiding her face behind her hand, returned Matthew's looks with smiles of adoration. Happily, she envisioned her own white dress now being lovingly crafted by her mother.
Brian and Sarah, after scattering flower petals, beamed happily as they waited for the ceremony to end, thinking of the myriad kinds of food on the reception tables. They had tried to snatch bites, but were scolded and chased away by a vigilant Grace.
Michaela's white satin dress glimmered in the sunlight, her mother's wedding dress worn forty years before. Sully touched its smooth softness as he helped her rise when Reverend Johnson completed the wedding prayer.
"Michaela Quinn and Byron Sully, I now pronounce you man and wife! You may kiss the bride," the minister beamed.
United in God's law, Sully gently raised Michaela's veil. She lifted her radiant face to his and their lips united in love.
To loud applause, the couple turned, hurriedly making their way out of the church. The boisterous crowd followed, flocking toward food and drink.
The celebrating continued until the afternoon sun began to wane and the food disappeared. "Sully-Sully-Sully" the crowd began to chant, until Sully triumphantly swept Michaela up into his arms, carrying her to his waiting horse.
Despite weak protestations, Michaela willingly let Sully place her on his horse. Swinging up behind her, Sully waved triumphantly to the raucous townspeople. Michaela's white satin gown cascaded down the side of the brown horse as she leaned back into the love and safety of Sully's encircling arms and they rode toward the waiting night.
The rhythmic movements of the horse lulled the weary bride to sleep and Sully held carefully his precious burden as they traveled miles into solitude. Sully slowed the horse when the sound of a river became audible, directing him to a grove of trees by the flowing water.
"Michaela, my love," he aroused her, cradling her in his arms for a moment.
"Sully, where are we?" she sleepily inquired as he helped her down.
"The Indians call this the 'Place of Peace', Michaela." Tenderly he led her to a leafy bower beneath the trees. Sturdy pine boughs had been shaped to form a protective roof and sides. Within the bower, resilient leaves, fragrant cedar and pine boughs and buffalo robes made up their wedding bed.
"Who did all this, Sully?" surprised, Michaela asked, picking up two soft white blankets of delicate workmanship.
"Cloud Dancing and I worked many hours on the shelter; Snow Bird had made the blankets for our wedding gift; but I made the bed for you, Michaela," he answered, drawing her close, not noticing her slight shiver as she recalled words from the past.
She thanked him with loving sweet lips.
"This is the wedding clothing of the Cheyenne," Sully commented, handing Michaela a soft white deerskin dress, showing her a buckskin suit. Stepping outside the bower, he changed as she replaced her elaborate gown with the simple, natural garment.
Her loosened hair cascaded over her shoulders and back, its shimmering brown length contrasting with the white dress. Her eyes downcast, she demurely stepped out of the bower to her waiting husband.
Sully paused, awe-struck by her beauty, then walked to her. Taking her hands, he gently drew her to him. Cupping her face with one hand, he tenderly kissed her lips, whispering, "Michaela, my love, my dearest love, my wife." Holding her close, he buried his face in her fragrant, flowing hair as she nestled her head on his chest.
The murmuring river reflected the rosy rays of dusk, and the two lovers walked hand in hand by the peaceful stream. The soft sounds of dusk arose: chirping crickets, cooing quail, rustling small animals.
Luminescent fireflies silently flocked around the oblivious couple. Sully's small fire relieved the chill of the night as they ate the wedding supper Cloud Dancing had provided. In the gloaming before the darkness of night, Michaela and Sully sat before the glimmering fire, its glow reflected on their faces.
In the circle of Sully's embrace, Michaela felt the warmth and strength of his vibrant body. Her silken head rested on his shoulder and he ardently covered her hair, face, and throat with kisses, murmuring endearments.
Warmth that was not from the fire began to envelop the two lovers. In Sully's arms, Michaela turned her body until he could kiss her upturned, tremulous lips. Her whispers of "I love you" were covered by his eager mouth.
The questioning cry of an owl echoed in the shadowy silence when Sully rose and lifted his bride in his arms, carrying her to the bower. Darkness descended on the scene of love.
Peacefully, the pure white May moon rose, caressing the flowing water, touching the shadowy trees and bower, lingering on the white deerskin dress crumpled beside the fire.
Silently, Nature blessed the wedding night of Michaela and Sully.
Eden: "to love, to honor, to cherish..."
Michaela awoke languidly to the sounds of chattering squirrels and excited birds claiming their disturbed territory, and the homey smells of coffee and eggs. Stretching out her arm, she was dismayed that Sully's place in the bed was empty. She shivered with a sense of loneliness.
Sighing, she relaxed, her memory recalling unfamiliar feelings of physical pleasure from her wedding night. She recalled being so overwhelmed by passion that she was barely conscious of Sully's carrying her to the bower. She had never before experienced the growing fervor Sully's kisses and caresses had aroused in her, nor the weakness of desire.
"Michaela," Sully's deep voice aroused her from reverie, "are you ready for breakfast?" he inquired, entering the bower.
Smiling, she lifted loving arms to him. "Come back to bed, first, Sully. I am not quite ready. Eagerly, he slipped beneath the warm Indian blankets, enfolding her in his gentle arms, returning her invitation with adoring kisses.
"Michaela, my love, my wife," he murmured, gazing at her glowing face, "did last night pleasure you? I never want to disappoint you, to cause you any pain or fear. Love-makin' can wait until you are ready. Tell me, love."
"My darling Sully, I never dreamed anyone could be so gentle and considerate," Michaela answered with trembling lips. "My father was a stern, aloof man whom I adored. He showed pride when I achieved a goal but seldom showed affection. I never saw him and my mother kiss or touch in love."
"They must have kissed sometime, dearest; don't you have four sisters?" Sully teased, gently stroking her tense body until she relaxed in his arms.
"Yes, I know, but my mother was very old-fashioned. I learned about "monthlies' from one of our maids, about the human body from Gray's Anatomy, and about babies and reproduction from my medical school books.
"Is that where you learned about the worms not needin' other worms," Sully again teased, "like you told me on our fishin' trip?"
"Yes, Sully, they are hermaphroditic."
"Sounds like they're mighty lonely," Sully answered, caressing her bare arm; "personally, I like the story of the birds and the bees."
"Sully, you are so bad," Michaela laughed, hiding her blushing face on his chest.
"My darling, I know your parents were good people, but what did they tell you about love that made you so afraid?"
"Mother told me kissing is nice, but might lead to something else that I would not want," she confessed. "Dear Lord, I told Colleen that the other day! Always in my mind was the fear of the 'something else'."
Holding her close, Sully whispered into her hair, "And that is why you were afraid to be alone with me, to touch me, to kiss me--oh, my dear, I thought you did not love me--I'm sorry I did not understand."
Contritely he kissed her forgiving lips.
Caressing his tousled hair, she commented, "I am not afraid now, Sully, my husband."
Teasingly, he replied, "I know, Michaela, you are a fast learner."
Alarmed, she questioned, "Oh, Sully, am I wanton-am I like Hank's girls?"
Laughing, he caressed her, quieting her fears. "Michaela, my darling, your feelings are pure and natural; we are man and wife."
Her eyes filling with tears, Michaela responded, "Sully, I loved you so much I was afraid I would forget my mother's words--afraid I might not be able to control my feelings and would offer myself to you whether or not you loved me." Shaking with sobs, she opened her defenseless and vulnerable heart to him. Raising her trembling lips to his, she whispered, "Whether or not you love me, Sully, now I am yours, forever."
He responded with an ardent embrace; tenderly kissing away her flowing tears, his loving lips assured her of his eternal love.
"Now, tell me about your parents, darling," Michaela snuggled in his comforting arms.
"My ma and pa were very loving, Michaela. They touched and kissed often, My pa liked to rock me and sing me to sleep by the fire."
Surprised, Michaela questioned, "Really, Sully? What did he sing to you--lullabies?"
"Sometimes, but mostly love songs by Bobby Burns. My mother's name was 'Jean', like Burns' wife. Pa especially liked, 'I Love My Jean'."
"Sing it, darling," Michaela coaxed.
"Ever wi' my Jean..."
Sully's rich baritone voice filled the bower as he sang with a Scots' burr the words of love:
the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly lo'e the west;
For there the bonie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best;
There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between;
But, day and night, my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers
I see her sweet and fair
I hear her in the tuneful birds,
Wi' music charm the air;
There's not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonie bird that sings
but minds me o `my Jean."
Tears sparkled in both blue eyes and brown as the last sweet note lingered in the air.
"Sully," Michaela whispered with awe, "that is beautiful. Your mother must have felt so loved. Sully, may I be your Jean?"
Tears spilled from Sully's blue eyes. "My pa worshipped her; not being able to give her a good life even after they came to America killed him. Ma thought being away from the land broke his heart but it was disappointing her that done broke it. Life was so cruel to them, Michaela."
Now it was she who kissed away the shining tears on her husband's face, encircling him with comforting, compassionate arms. "Life was cruel to them, Sully, but what a wonderful legacy of love they left you. And now you give that love to me," she shared.
Tenderly he stroked her face and hair as she again opened her heart. "Sully, last night you fulfilled our wedding vows to love--to honor--to cherish. You showed me that love and passion are both God's plan for marriage."
Remembering his loving, gentle hands caressing away her fears, his sweet, tender lips reassuring and soothing her apprehensions, she offered her awakened body to his loving embrace. "My Jean," he breathed.
They were not conscious of the rising spiral of smoke from burning eggs or the angry sputter of the campfire as boiling coffee flooded it, or the acrid smells of ruined food. Lost in the wonder of love, they were only conscious that they were man and woman, alone in Eden.
The smiling sun touched with gold the beds of the lovers in Colorado and in far-away Scotland as in song their vows of love drifted on the western air.
Sarah: "Blessed by God"
A swift-moving spring storm awoke the couple. A sharp clap of thunder caused Michaela to cling trembling to Sully; a bright flash of lightning made her bury her head on his chest.
"It's only a little May shower, darlin," he comforted, stroking her trembling back.
"I know, Sully, but I have always been afraid of storms. My mother used to make us all go to bed; she is still terrified of them."
"Poor little girl," he crooned, "my poor baby," as she shivered with fear at the continuing storm. "The rain is good for the rhubarb, dear."
Relaxing in his protective arms, Michaela laughed, "What does that mean, Sully?"
"Oh, it's just an old sayin' Abagail used to repeat when I complained about rainy days."
"Sully, will you tell me about Abagail and your little baby? I know their loss hurt you very much."
"Michaela, Abagail was so innocent and young when we married. She wanted only to be a good wife to me and a good mother. We both wanted children--I never dreamed"---he paused, pain choking his voice.
"Sully, I have seen how you love my children."
"The babe came too early," Sully began. "I hurried to get Charlotte but she could not stop the birthing."
"It is a beautiful little girl!" Charlotte announced to a radiant new mother and a worried young father. Tenderly, she placed the tiny life on the breast of Abagail who lay in the bed Sully had made, her lustrous black hair curling over the white pillows.
"Sully, she looks just like you," Abagail declared, and Sully, pleased, bent over the mother and child to kiss them both. The parents smiled when the baby's tiny finger closed over Sully's proffered one.
Charlotte beamed, always happy to be a part of the miracle of birth. The February sun seemed to warm a little, faintly lighting the cabin, illuminating the sleeping mother and child whose silky brown hair matched the dark hair of Sully, kneeling beside the bed, his head on Abagail's shoulder.
Charlotte was cleaning up when Sully's wolf raised his head from the hearth. Restlessly, he padded to Sully's side, whining softly.
Sully patted him and rose to let him out, but he would not go. Abagail opened liquid dark eyes to the grey dawn, cradling the tiny babe Charlotte had swaddled in a soft blanket Sully's Cheyenne friend, Snow Bird had made.
Abagail smiled, then apologetically whispered, "Charlotte--the bed--I am sorry."
"Abagail, don't worry; we can change it," Charlotte responded, pulling back the quilts. She stared with horror at the bright stain beneath Abagail's white nightdress--a bright, spreading stain. "Sully!" she cried.
Hurrying to the bedside, his eyes met Charlotte's fear-filled eyes, then lowered to the white form of his wife, her body outlined by the red stain of her blood.
Horrified, he gasped, "Charlotte, what can we do?"
"Bring snow, Sully--hurry!" she responded, removing pillows to lower Abagail's head, ministering to her with all the knowledge she had as a midwife. The flow continued.
Helplessly, Charlotte turned away from the bed, relieved at a knock at the door. Opening to Abagail's mother and father, she greeted them, explaining the problem. "We'll take her to Denver," Loren blustered, "I'll not let her die in this God-forsaken place." Stamping into the cabin, he pulled his wife toward the bed as Charlotte sought to quiet him. Then the trio stopped, awed by the unforgettable scene before them.
In the rocker by her bed, Sully held his wife and child, Abagail's black hair covering his chest, her head resting on his heart, her white nightdress flowing to the floor. On her breast lay a wee dark-haired bundle.
By the waning fire, Sully rocked, cradling Abagail in his arms as her life slowly flowed from her, and the tiny life on her breast stilled.
The women stifled their moans, but could not control their flow of tears. At her mother's anguished, "Abagail," the daughter opened dark, peaceful eyes, welcoming her as she clutched her hand. Her father stood by helplessly as she lovingly smiled at him; then her dark lashes lowered.
"Loren, you must hurry," Charlotte reminded him. He reached for Abagail, but Sully's blue eyes blazed into his with so much agony that Loren's hands dropped in surrender.
Sully rose, lifting tenderly his precious burdens, and with a soft sigh Abagail whispered, "Sully...promise." Sully's lips on hers sealed his promise, and he felt the last sweet breath of the gentle soul mingle with his own. His body trembled but no tears escaped his tortured eyes.
Only when Maude's hands touched the babe did Sully notice the others in the room. He allowed the weeping grandmother to take the tiny form, and the frantic Charlotte to throw blankets over Abagail as he carried her out the door.
Remaining behind, Charlotte began to clean the floor, blinded by tears mingling with the sudsy water. On her knees, she looked up at the sound at the door as two dark figures entered. Silently, they knelt with her, scrubbing and rinsing the signs of life and death from the floor until the boards shone clear. Impassively, the Cheyenne couple carried the stained bedding outside to burn, scattered the dying fire, and packed up a few articles and food.
"He will not return," Cloud Dancing stated, as Charlotte closed the door.
"I know," she answered, her eyes brimming with tears met those of Cloud Dancing and Snow Bird, whose own eyes mirrored her grief. Silently, Sully's friends departed, leaving the bright quilts, the lovingly burnished cradle, the cold hearth, the lifeless cabin to the Colorado winter and the lonely wolf.
Only after the futile trip to Denver was over and the broken-hearted family returned home, did Sully relinquish his wife from his embrace. Placing her in Reverend Johnson's sympathetic arms, he gave her over to the loving care of the sorrowing neighbor women. Then he disappeared into the night.
Loren was glad for Sully's absence at the funeral. "It is his fault she is dead," he railed. "I begged her not to marry him."
"Stop it, Loren!" his sister chided him. "Abagail loved Sully, she wanted this child. She would not want you to blame Sully."
"I will never forgive him," the grieving father buried his face in his hands, seeking to replace his terrible pain with anger.
The mother and child, Abagail and tiny Sarah, "Blessed by God," were placed in the same grave, never to be separated. A mourning sky wept tiny white droplets around midnight, creating a peaceful scene of purity as snow covered the land until dawn.
As the cold Sunday morning grew light, Reverend Johnson entered the little graveyard on his way to church. Sadly, he contemplated the new addition to the graveyard; the brown mound of Abagail and her child was now white like all the other graves.
The mound was white with snow except for two bare spots where no snow had fallen. Puzzled, he gazed at the grave--finally recognizing the triangular outline of a once-crouching animal as the small spot. But he could not identify the larger area that looked like a brown shadow on the white snow.
Suddenly, he realized that the brown place on the white earth was the imprint of a body--the imprint left by a man's body lying prostrate on the grave all night--guarding--protecting--enfolding. He bowed his head.
Winter passed slowly; snow buried the frigid days, creating a white land of silent solitude.
But in the frozen black nights, a cry pierced the silence. Wailing, suffering, questioning, mourning--two voices blended into one anguished cry--rising--rising--rising to the implacable heavens.
Compassionately, Michaela held her grieving husband in her arms, their tears mingling, as they wept together for the beloved wife and the blessed babe of love.
"The Song of Solomon"
Michaela was delighted by Sully's newly discovered sense of fun. He usually was reserved and serious, intent on fulfilling a task, coming to her aid, or comforting or reassuring her or her children. In Nature's setting, he was playful and joyous.
"Michaela, you have no sense of humor," he chided when she ran out of the bower in her nightdress, screaming at the discovery of a perplexed raccoon in their bed.
"Sully! You will cause me to have a heart attack!" she gasped as he caught and held her.
"I'll revive you," he murmured, with laughing lips stopping her protestations, carrying her back to bed.
Still shaken, she complained, "What if it had bitten me, Sully, with its wicked little teeth?"
"Oh, Michaela, I tied its mouth shut. It could not bite you with its wicked little teeth! But I can...." He demonstrated, biting her ears and throat until she squealed with pain and pleasure.
"Sully--that hurts--Sully--that tickles! Stop--Sully!" Their united laughter echoed through the stillness of the night.
"Did I hurt you, love," Sully whispered contritely as she lay in his cherishing arms, weak and shaken, "Was I too rough?"
"No, my darling. I have not known such joy since I was a little girl. As I grew up, I thought fun was for the young."
"Fun is for the young at heart, dear, and we are young all over, remember?" he smiled, caressing her. Then turning serious, he kissed the tender bite marks on her throat. "You will have blue marks on your neck, sweetheart," he told her guiltily.
"Oh, good," she answered, "My sisters called them 'passion marks'. I always wondered what they were. Let me give you some!"
He could not stand the tickling and begged for mercy until she elicited a promise from him. "Promise you will never put a raccoon in my bed again! Promise!"
"I--stop--Michaela--stop--I promise! I promise!"
They collapsed in each other's arms, weak with laughter, enervated by joy.
In the dawning morning hours, she was awakened by a question. "How about a frog, Michaela?"
She answered Sully with sweet words of love. A great source of amusement was Michaela's sense of modesty. Kneeling by the river one halcyon day catching fish for supper, Sully coaxed, "Love, come in for a swim."
"I cannot get this beautiful deerskin dress wet, Sully. It might be ruined," she resisted, as he rose and pulled her toward the water.
"For heaven's sake, Michaela, the deer got it wet! Well, here, take it off. Untying the shoulder laces, he pulled the dress down quickly, then stopped in amazement. "What in ---."
"I have on my underclothes, Mr. Smarty Sully. You know I am a nice girl," she proclaimed haughtily, stepping out of the dress.
Shaking with laughter, he snatched her up and threw her into the water, despite her screams. Plunging in after her, he showered her with water and she retaliated, until they both were half-drowned.
They staggered out, shivering. "Sully, I am freezing, I have nothing to wear," she complained, her teeth chattering.
"Put the buckskin dress back on, my love; it will quickly dry you," he answered, slipping on his dry shirt.
"But, Sully! I have no underclothes! she wailed.
"Neither do I!" he retorted, advancing toward her, his buckskin pants dripping.
She fled behind a huge oak, grateful for the soft Indian blankets Snow Bird had made, mysteriously lying at the tree's base.
When she emerged in her dry dress, he was sitting with his back to the tree, engulfed in his red poncho. She gasped in indignation when he looked up and inquired, "Are you decent, now, ma'am?"
"The question is "are you decent, Mr. Sully; have you been peeking at me?"
Grasping her wrist, he pulled her down into the depths of the opened poncho. "Sully!" she protested. "Do you have any clothes on?" she questioned as his arms held her captive.
"Of course I do, my love. I know what on old granny you are," he laughed. "I wouldn't want to scandalize your good name." His loving lips sought hers as the poncho covered them both.
"Oh, Sully, I love you so when you are silly. You are so good to me."
"I'm serious, now, my wife," he breathed.
"So am I, my love," she responded, giving him her willing mouth. Love replaced laughter.
Beneath the approving oak beside the affirming stream, the lovers repeated the age-old words of love:
thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair;
thou has dove's eye..., Also our bed is green,
The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir,
rise up, my love, my fair one and come away.
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come...
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
Thou has ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse...with one of thine eyes..."
Their voices united in the eternal words:
and my beloved is mine..."
The Music of Love
She awoke first as joyous sunlight filtered through the serene bower. The scent of pine boughs surrounded her and she inhaled their aromatic incense with pleasure. Shivering in the dawn chill, she reached to pull the blanket up on her shoulders, trying not to wake Sully, sleeping peacefully. His broad chest rose and fell rhythmically and she paused to study him.
As a physician, Michaela admired the human body she studied so avidly, but viewed it as a powerful machine. Always objective, she was accustomed to examining, cutting, stitching, stanching blood, so that all parts of the machine would function naturally. But now, watching her husband sleep, she realized the beauty of God's creation. Leaning on one elbow, she traced with her eyes the rounded curve of Sully's right shoulder as it flowed into his powerfully muscled arm. She recalled the strength of that arm demonstrated many times; accurately propelling his tomahawk through the air; wielding a helping hammer on the schoolhouse; chopping a cord of wood for her fireplace. Blushing, she recalled the strength of both arms as he carried her from the campfire to the bower on their wedding night.
His lustrous, tanned skin stretched over his broad chest and his left shoulder, the shoulder she so often sought for comfort. Admiring the symmetry and perfection of her husband's body, she did not notice his wide-open blue eyes.
"Will I live, Doc?" he drawled, startling her. "Will you have to operate?"
"Oh, Sully, how long have you been awake?"
"Long enough to see that you seem really concerned. Do you need to examine me more?"
"No," she replied hastily, "you look fine."
"Well, you look a little peaked, darling; I'll examine you, then," he teased.
"Sully, you are so silly--I'm going to call you 'Silly Sully'," she giggled.
"No, my love, call me 'Serious Sully'," he replied, pulling down the blanket.
The sun was high in the sky when the two lovers awoke again. In the curve of Sully's shoulder, her head on his chest, Michaela gasped, "Sully, I can feel your heart beating!"
"I sure hope so," he smiled, "it's been beatin' a lot faster, lately." He held her tenderly, cherishing her warmth and softness, burying his face in her fragrant hair. He pondered the circumstances leading to this time of joy--circumstances both good and bad. Much time had passed since this unique woman had entered his life and his heart. Now, they were one, joined in marriage and in spirit.
Gratefully, he cupped her face with one hand, tilting it upward until his lips lovingly touched her sweet, responding mouth. "I love you, my wife," he whispered wonderingly.
"Sully, you are my true love," she tearfully responded.
Clasping each other with arms of love, they rejoiced to be part of God's wonderful plan for man and woman.
The everlasting music of love sang on.*
"It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him an helpmeet."
"How can I live without thee, how forgo
Thy sweet converse and love so dearly joined.
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart:
no, no! I feel
The link of nature draw me:
flesh of flesh,
bone of my bone thou art;
And from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."
John Milton 1608-1674
I'll take his
hand and go with him
To the deep wells of light...
And I myself will teach to him,
The songs I sing here; which his voice
Shall pause in, hushed and slow...
Then will I lay my cheek
To his, and tell about our love,
Not once abashed, or weak...
I ask of Christ the Lord
This much for him and me--
Only to live as once one earth
With Love---only to be,
As then awhile, forever now
Together, I and he."
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Sully's Song "God Gave the Song"