The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Now is the time when India is gay / With wedding parties; and the radiant throngs / Seem like a scattered rainbow taking part / In human pleasures. Dressed in bright array, / They fling upon the bride their wreaths of songs- / The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.

Here is the temple ready for the rite: / The large-eyed bullocks halt; and waiting arms / Lift down the bride. All India's curious art / Speaks in the gems with which she is bedight. / And in the robes which hide her sweet alarms- / The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.

This is her day of days: her splendid hour / When joy is hers, though love is all unknown. / It has not dawned upon her childish heart. / But human triumph, in a temporal power, / Has crowned her queen upon a one-day throne- / The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.

Ah, Little Lady! What will be your fate? / So long, so long, the outward-reaching years: / So brief the joy of this elusive part; / So frail the shoulders for the loads that wait: / So bitter salt the virgin widow's tears- / O Little Lady of the Bullock cart.

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