Classic Poem

There's a wedding in the orchard, dear,
I know it by the flowers;
They're wreathed on every bough and branch,
Or falling down in showers.

The air is in a mist, I think,
And scarce knows which to be —
Whether all fragrance, clinging close,
Or bird-song, wild and free.

And countless wedding-jewels shine,
And golden gifts of grace;
I never saw such wealth of sun
In any shady place.

It seemed I heard the fluttering robes
Of maidens clad in white,
The clasping of a thousand hands
In tenderest delight;

While whispers ran among the boughs
Of promises and praise;
And playful, loving messages
Sped through the leaf-lit ways.

Then were there swayings to and fro;
The weeds a-tiptoe rose;
And sang the breeze a sudden song
That sank to sudden close;

And just beyond the wreathed aisles
That end against the blue,
The raiment of the wedding-choir
And priest came shining through.

And though I saw no wedding-guest,
Nor groom, nor gentle bride,
I know that holy things were asked,
And holy love replied.

Soon will the lengthening shadows move
Unwillingly away,
Like friends who linger with adieux
Yet are not bid to stay.

I follow where the blue-bird leads,
And hear its soft " good-night, "
Still thinking of the wedding-scene
And aisles of flowery light.