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Star-Crossed Bride
It wouldn't be the marriage god whose hand
Her hand would take that night, but a god
Out of the underworld who had come to stand
At the foot of her high-strung bridal bed.
As new brides will, delaying her rousing
Husband's hungers, she'd fled on foot
To a childhood haunt near the summerhouse.
But the unleashed guard dogs caught her scent
And, lathering after her, ran her down;
And we, who'd hoped all night to see her rapt
In the full blush of a newlywed, found,
Instead, mattered bits of gnawed-on scraps
(Scarcely enough to even bury well)
Scattered amongst the garbage from the festival.
Antiphanes, first century B.C.