Is rosy and fresh in its morning array,
When flowers are awaking, and birds full of glee,
At the top of the morning, our wedding shall be.
And, since friends we have none, for this wedding of ours
No guests shall there be, save the birds and the flowers;
And we’ll stand out among them, in sight of them all,
Where the pink-and-white blooms of the apple-tree fall.”
“Od zooks!” cried the priest, “what a wedding we’ll see
To-morrow, at sunrising, under the tree!”
Next morning, while sleeping his sweetest sleep,