Bridal Song
ROSES,
their
sharp
spines
being
gone,
Not
royal
in
their
smells
alone,
But
in
their
hue;
Maiden
pinks,
of
odour
faint,
Daisies
smell-less,
yet
most
quaint,
And
sweet
thyme
true;
Primrose,
firstborn
child
of
Ver;
Merry
springtime's
harbinger,
With
her
bells
dim;
Oxlips
in
their
cradles
growing,
Marigolds
on
death-beds
blowing,
Larks'-heels
trim;
All
dear
Nature's
children
sweet
Lie
'fore
bride
and
bridegroom's
feet,
Blessing
their
sense!
Not
an
angel
of
the
air,
Bird
melodious
or
bird
fair,
Be
absent
hence!
The
crow,
the
slanderous
cuckoo,
nor
The
boding
raven,
nor
chough
hoar,
Nor
chattering
pye,
May
on
our
bride-house
perch
or
sing,
Or
with
them
any
discord
bring,
But
from
it
fly!
