’Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,
And the lights burnt bright and clear—
“Oh, who is that,” the Bridegroom said,
“Whose weary feet I hear?”
’Twas one look’d from the lighted hall,
And answered soft and slow,
“It is a wolf runs up and down
With a black track in the snow.”
The Bridegroom in his robe of white
Sat at the table-head—