Classic Poem

Other poets meet
Their mistress in a garden,
Watering happy flowers,
Drest like Dolly Varden;
Mine's a happier fate,
Makes every hour so tender,
For Jennie cleans the grate
And toilets up the fender.

O, my anguish dire,
I'm sadder than Lord Lovell,
When I see her coax the fire,
And cuddle the old shovel;
My heart is full of wrongs,
That I never spoke her,
I'm jealous of the tongs,
I hate that rakish poker.

O, what joys must rest,
Where this hand would falter!
Blest rose upon her breast;
Thrice blest the beaded halter.
I would be that rose,
And tho' dry as rushes,
My sap should gather power,
My leaves bloom back her blushes;
And eke that beaded chain,
Gods! how each bead would quiver,
When love shot through a vein,
Like sunlight through a river!

Her mother ruled the house,
And acted small and shabby,
She made me play the mouse,
While she played the old tabby.
Never once a tasty dish,
But all things one would tire on,
She gave me ancient fish,
And beef steak hard as iron.

Once I grew quite red,
Th' untouched beef steak brought her,
She tost her handsome head:
“'Twas purchased by my daughter.’
I just touched Jennie's slender
Waist, and said: “Enough,
But never aught so tender
Purchased aught so tough.”