Classic Poem

Seven candles burn at my love's head,
Seven candles at his feet;
He lies as he were carved of stone
Under the winding-sheet.

The Mayers troop into the town
Each with a branch of May,
But when they come to my love's house
Not one word do they say.

But when they come to my love's house,
Silent they stand before;
Out steps a lad with one white bough,
And lays it at the door.