Classic Poem

The bride forsakes her maiden room,
And window up below the eaves,
And now, O merry birds, to whom
Will ye all sing among the leaves?
Go call the dove from woods aloof
To moan in trees above her roof.

The bride has left the garden hatch;
Nor soon again shall there be shown;
Oh! sweep ye not the hallowed floor,
Oh! sweep ye not the threshold stone,
For fear ye heedlessly offsweep
Her tracks that all the ground should keep.

The bride has left the garden hatch;
To let her through it swung about;
Turn not to-night its key or latch,
As if you meant to shut her out,
Nor while the wicket keepeth good
Give to the fire its hallow'd wood.

The bride is gone along the road,
And with her joy is gone away;
Oh! bless her to her new abode,
Though dull be left your lonesome day.
Her road was to the western sky,
Where now your thoughts will daily fly.