MY Bride is a simple maiden, And Love is her all -- her all; But better is love in a garret Than hate in a gilded hall. And brighter than all the jewels That flash on a monarch's brow, -- Ay! bright as the stars of heaven Are the eyes of this bride, I trow. When sorrows invest my bosom, I look in her smiling face; When friends like the snow have vanished, I weep in her wild embrace: The thrill of her glance is rapture, The glow of her touch divine; -- And Poesy, darling Poesy, Is the name of this bride of mine. |