Classic Poem

They robed her for another groom,
For her bridal couch, prepared the tomb;
From the sunny love of her marriage day
A stronger rival had won her away;
His wooing was like a stern command,
And cold was the pressure of his hand.

Through her veins he sent an icy thrill,
With sudden fear her heart stood still;
To his dusty palace the bride he led,
Her guests were the pale and silent dead
No eye flashed forth a loving light,
To greet the bride as she came in sight,
Not one reached out a joyous hand,
To welcome her home to the mystic land.

Silent she sat in the death still hall,
For her bridal robe she wore a pall;
Instead of orange-blossoms fair,
Willow and cypress wreathed her hair.
Though her mother's kiss lay on her cheek,
Her lips no answering love could speak,
No air of life stirred in her breath,
That fair young girl was the bride of death.