Classic Poem

The Host lifts high the candlelight—
“Out in the dark who waits before?
Now who is this at mid of night,
Comes faring to my door?”

With rushes is the chamber set;
The house is sweet without, within;
For it may be she will forget
The place where she hath been.

But lonely, lonely in the room,
With strange eyes looks she all about;
She sees the broken boughs in bloom,
And the red wine poured out.

They crowd around her where she stands,
The children and the elders there;
They put the cup within her hands;
They break the loaf so fair.

Oh, what to her that they are kind!
Oh, let the tears come like a tide!
She cannot keep from out her mind
The son for whom she died!