Classic Poem

The Muse not seldom fails me
When most her aid I need;
She sweeps to worlds far distant
And will not slack her speed.
She, wrapped in trances, dreameth
Full oft the hours away;
Nay more, she e'en neglecteth
A happy bridal day.

So now, to greet your bridal,
She cometh all too late;
She prays you treat her kindly
Nor count her fault as great;
For, trust me, fortune poureth
On you her brightest ray,
If friends both late and early
May sing your bridal lay.