Classic Poem

Winter has chased away
Blue skies and songs of May.
She, too, is old now,
White-haired, with wrinkled brow;
But those eyes, dear eyes,
Are aglow with their light,
As when the day dies
Shine stars of the night.

Never alone,
A hand holds her own
Strong hand whose clasp
Thrills with its grasp;
And her heart is aflame
As love whispers her name.

Contented she waits
Till the great Temple gates
Are flung wide,
Then forth from the night
Steps the bride,
Forth into the light.
And then shall one say,
" Who giveth this woman away
And Death shall upstand,
And set the hand of the bride in the bridegroom's hand.

For love is of God: so shall love be
As God's own Self, immortally.