Classic Poem

A damsel o'er a meadow fair
Went plucking flow'rets many-hued,
When lo! a dame of beauty rare
Came tow'rds her from the wood.

With friendly look the maid she met,
She twined a chaplet round her hair;
“'Twill blossom, though it bloom not yet;
O wear it alway there!”

And when the damsel older grew,
And wandered while the moonlight gleamed
And wept sweet tears—love's tender dew—
With buds the chaplet teemed.

And when she clasped her bridegroom round
With clinging arms in happy hour,
Then wondrously each bud was found
To yield its full-blown flower.

Ere long upon her breast she nursed
A lovely babe with rapture mute;
When from the leafy garland burst
Rich store of golden fruit.

But when within the grave's dark night
Deep-buried lay her husband dear,
Around her hair with sorrow white
Waved yellow leaves and sere.

Ere long she too lay pale in death,
But still her head the chaplet wore;
When lo! the wondrous changeful wreath
Both fruit and blossom bore!