Our faces paler turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the gas-lamp's steady burning.
No useless watch-chain covered his vest,
Nor over-dressed we found him;
But he looked like a gentleman wearing his best,
With a few of his friends around him.
Few and short were the things we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow,
But we silently gazed on the man that was wed,