For—so at least old tales and stories run—
The bride is blessèd whom it shines upon.
Assembled friends with presents rich and rare;
A laughing group of girlish bridesmaids fair;
A father—mother, clasping to their heart
The darling child with whom they fear to part,
The daughter who, like timid bird caressed,
Prepares to flutter from the parent nest.
And dearer, dearest to that blushing bride
Is he whose place till death is by her side.