Classic Poem

Break not the slumbers of the bride,
But let the sun in triumph ride,
Scattering his beamy light;
When she awakes, he shall resign
His rays, and she alone shall shine
In glory all the night.

For she, till day return, must keep
An amorous vigil, and not steep
Her fair eyes in the dew of sleep.

Yet gently whisper, as she lies,
And say her lord waits her uprise,
The priests at the altar stay:
With flow'ry wreaths the virgin crew
Attend, while some with roses strew,
And myrtles trim the way.

Now to the temple and the priest
See her convey'd, thence to the feast;
Then back to bed, though not to rest.

For now, to crown his faith and truth,
We must admit the noble youth
To revel in Love's sphere;
To rule, as chief intelligence,
That orb, and happy time dispense
To wretched lovers here;

For there exalted far above
All hope, fear, change, are they to move
The wheel that spins the fates of Love.

They know no night, nor glaring noon,
Measure no hours of sun or moon,
Nor mark Time's restless glass;
Their kisses measure as they flow
Minutes, and their embraces show
The hours as they pass.

Their motions the year's circle make,
And we from their conjunctions take
Rules to make Love an almanac.