Classic Poem

One day in a lonesome grove,
Lit o'er my head a little dove,
O little dove, you are not alone,
Like you I am constrained to mourn.
There is one thing that cheers my heart,
That my dear Mary's gone to rest,
And while tongue can move,
She prayed, she prayed her
Lord her pardoning love.

Do you see yon turtle-dove lamenting on yonder vine?
She's mourning for her own true love,
Why shouldn't I, too, mourn for mine?
My little dove, you're not alone,
For with you I'm constrained to mourn,
I once like you did have a mate,
But like you now I'm desolate.