Desi C, do you have a citation for the marriage being concluded in the cell?

It wasn't that there was a power cut, but that Kilmainham had been disused for years, and the power simply wasn't on.

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Here's another of Joseph Plunkett's poems, a Pre-Raphaelite gem - despite the name, not written to Grace Gifford but to Columba O'Carroll, an earlier flame:

My Lady has the Grace of Death

My lady has the grace of Death
Whose charity is quick to save,
Her heart is broad as heaven's breath,
Deep as the grave.

She found me fainting by the way
And fed me from her babeless breast
Then played with me as children play,
Rocked me to rest.

When soon I rose and cried to heaven
Moaning for sins I could not weep,
She told me of her sorrows seven
Kissed me to sleep.

And when the morn rose bright and ruddy
And sweet birds sang on the branch above
She took my sword from her side all bloody
And died for love.