And if I am reading the happy Word,
Or saying my prayers by the taper's glow,
I wish that my Harry had _this_ preferr'd
To the painted toys and the men below.
* * * * *
'I wish that my Harry had this preferr'd'--
But ought I to wish it, if he does not?
Has my foolish heart from its duty err'd,
And the soft compliance of love forgot?
There _can_ be no question 'twixt wrong and right;
And surely we all can be brave and strong;
Yet I seem a little perplex'd to-night,
And hardly to know what _is_ right or wrong.
I'm very young to be anyone's wife,
And to know about serious things like these--
Must my little hand touch my husband's life
With a thought of something _more_ than to please?
What shall I do with this ghost of a care
That makes my silly heart flutter and sink?
I will first kneel down and will say a prayer,
And then I'll ask Harry what I should think!
Harry stalk'd into my room in a rage--
'Hilton and Wilton have clear'd me out quite;
A run of ill luck at every stage--
Fifty pounds lost since you left us to-night!
I'll have my revenge on the rogues I vow!'
Marks of strange anger disfigure his face,
A dry parch'd lip and a thundery brow,
And a sharp bright eye that has lost its grace.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35