Classic Poem

I will not go alone, my delicate love,
Thou must journey with me!
To the dear, old, pleasing, shivering den
In the drear, cold, freezing, quivering glen
Where my mother squats at the entrance gate
Her dear son's coming home to await.

“Nay then, unhand me, gloomy man!
Who has called thee hither?
Thy hot breath blows, but thy touch is bleak;
Thy bright eye glows, but pale is thy cheek.
Whilst I would have gleeful things for mine,
With scent of roses and sweet sunshine.”

Let the roses blossom—the sun shine out,
My sweetest sweetheart!
Fold round thee thy veil with its white-flowing maze,
And sound on the lyre its bright flowing lays,
And sing a wedding song for me
While the night-wind pipes the melody.