'MY bride is not coming, alas!' says the groom, And the telegram shakes in his hand. 'I own It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room When I went to the Cattle-Show alone, And then, next night, where the Fountain leaps, And the Street of the Quarter-Circle sweeps. 'Ay, she won me to ask her to be my wife - 'Twas foolish perhaps! - to forsake the ways Of the flaring town for a farmer's life. She agreed. And we fixed it. Now she says: "It's sweet of you, dear, to prepare me a nest, But a swift, short, gay life suits me best. What I really am you have never gleaned; I had eaten the apple ere you were weaned."' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO THE BRITISH MUSEUM by WILLIAM EMPSON IN THE SHADOWS: MY EPITAPH by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) SONNET: SILENCE by THOMAS HOOD EPITHALAMIUM by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED by HENRY HOWARD |