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Katharine Tynan - The Bride
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WEAVE me no wreath of orange blossom,
 No bridal white shall me adorn;
I wear a red rose in my bosom;
 To-morrow I shall wear the thorn.

Bring me no gauds to deck my beauty,
 Put by the jewels and the lace;
My love to honour and to duty
 Was plighted ere he saw my face.

I hear his impatient charger neighing,
 I hear the trumpets blow afar!
His comrades ride, as to a Maying,
 Jesting and splendid to the war.

Why is my lady-mother weeping?
 Why is my father grievèd sore?
Oh, love, God have you in His keeping,
  The day you leave your true-love`s door.

Gay is the golden harvest spreading,
 The orchard`s all in rose and gold;
Who said it was a mournful wedding?
 My hand in yours, Love, is not cold.

Go glad and gay to meet the foeman,
 I love you to my latest breath;
Oh, love, there is no happier woman.
  See, I am smiling! Love-till death!
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