When comes the Bridegroom and the end of care.
So goes the dance until the night is gone
And chanticleer proclaims the breaking dawn.
The waning stars show pale to wearied eyes
And seem to dance cotillions in the skies;
As if, forsooth, upon the journey home
Terpsichore's music filled the starry dome.
Blest be the dance! with noisy pleasure rife
Enough to temper all the woe in life;
What magic power its capering measures hold