THERE REMAINS BUT A WEEK AND A LITTLE

There remains but a week and a little,
Till the rite of our crowning is done;
That one moment we rise from the middle,
Bound both fast by a promise as one.

Shall we carry our flight unto God,
Bearing crowns through the height of the air?
He will look upon us, stern yet mild,
Men will whisper: “Two white crows stand there…”

Yet God answers: “Two white birds ascending,
They will whirl in a dance without end.”
And the humble men bow low, unbending,
By the oak where new branches extend.