Good are the mornings for birds in a nest,
Fluttering out from a beautiful home;
Good are the mornings, but evenings are best,
Seeking its shelter nor asking to roam.

Life, like a secret, is too much for one--
May be too little where numbers are great--
All _may_ be vanity under the sun,
But all _is_ charming when done _tête à tête_.

Neighbours _will_ call--what a trouble it is!
Dinners and parties are made for our sake:
Why must society trouble our bliss?
Dinners and neighbours are quite a mistake!

Drest as a bride, I must dine at the Grange;
Harry beside me, I have not a care;
Only it seems so exceedingly strange
Not to be thinking of meeting him there!

Jane does my hair with a skill, I confess,
Smilingly thinking of days that are gone,
When for a party I ran up to dress
With neither a husband nor maid of my own.

Life that is past, did you certainly pass?
When were you actual? how did you change?
Who is this girl that I see in the glass
Thinking of things that are happy and strange?