Is like autumn leaves decaying and dead,
With a flavour of bad theatrical gas,
And of last night's banquet,' my husband said.

I laugh'd at the gay nonsensical speech,
In my merry pride at being his wife;
I sat at his feet, and I bade him teach
A neophyte out of his noble life.

He mutter'd 'My noble life!' with a frown,
'With noble lives I have little to do;
My dear, put those frivolous notions down,
I am but a man, and a weak one too.
My life has been full of confounded things,
I am only a man, like other men;
But we hear a flutter of angel-wings,
And our demons forsake us, there and then.
In marrying _thee_, my innocent sprite,
I had caught a glimpse of a purer joy;
I turn'd a new page, and the page was white;
I'm quite determin'd to be a good boy!'
His hand sought my head with a careless grace,
And the sun shone suddenly out on us;
O gracious and sweet was my Harry's face,--
Why should a hero belie himself thus?




PART II.