With wild-rose wreaths, with gayest bloom,
And wreathed maiden's hands.
But, now she stands with me even there,
With sweetly downcast eyes,
So purely white, so passing fair,
Like one of Paradise.
The preacher speaks the solemn words,
Yet fraught with deepest bliss;
We twain in one are bound by chords,
With sob—with clasp—with kiss.