  LET others bring from foreign shore The glittering gem, the shining ore, Rare trophies from the coral caves, And hidden wealth of ocean waves, To grace the bridal hall. You floral queens! You roses white! Bathed in the moonbeam’s yellow light, You’ll smile in many a quaint design, And help the banquet room to line— But not the diadem. My starry flowers—this purple heath— She’ll gather for that trailing wreath; For my faint breath of rare perfume Is only for the bridal room— The bride—the bridal crown. To watch with me her trembling sigh, The golden pansy’s modest eye Shall only glance from out my bower, With me proclaim the nuptial hour, And seal the holy bond. |
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