Oh welcome, lone cricket, thy song, Tho' never so dull be thy lay; Oh linger, thy music prolong, For now the dear wife is away. The hall and the kitchen are mute, Where Bridget of late had her say; Nor even the clock will dispute, That the mistress of all is away. The dining-room, cosy and neat, Is shrouded in gloom and dismay; We miss that dear social retreat, Whenever the wife is away. The parlor is lonely and drear, In spite of its tasteful display; It has not a smile or a cheer, So long as the wife is away. The pictures that hang on the wall, Are now but a dismal array; The dear, charming picture of all -- The wife -- is away, far away. The evening her curtain may spread, The beams of the noon to allay; The flowers their sweet odors may shed, Yet still the dear wife is away. Then heavy must be our refrain -- A sigh in the brief roundelay, Until she returns once again -- The wife who is far, far away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MADRIGAL by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN THE FARM CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IT'S A QUEER TIME by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES H. BAPTISME (2) by GEORGE HERBERT THE BARREL-ORGAN by ALFRED NOYES THE DEAD DRUMMER; A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |