Bridal Song

Bride, that goest to the bridal chamber In the dove-drawn car of Aphrodite, By a band of dimpled Loves surrounded;

Bride, of maidens all the fairest image Mitylene treasures of the Goddess, Rosy-ankled Graces Are thy playmates;

Bride, O fair and lovely, thy companions Are the gracious hours that onward passing For thy gladsome footsteps Scatter garlands.

Bride, that blushing like the sweetest apple On the very branch’s end, so strangely Overlooked, ungathered By the gleaners;

Bride, that like the apple that was never Overlooked but out of reach so plainly, Only one thy rarest Fruit may gather;

Bride, that into womanhood has ripened For the harvest of the bridegroom only, He alone shall taste thy Hoarded sweetness.