Classic Poem

Back from a tedious holiday
He comes, and — Duty first — he looks
Around for his familiar books;
But all the room's in disarray!
He searches, what's the matter, eh?
He hunts in most unheard of nooks.
— Were robbers here, or were they cooks,
Who seized, who stole my Books away?
Not one! What wind has blown about,
What tempest can have tossed them out,
And cleared the shelves that used to hold them? —
No cook, no thief, no tempest came,
His lady wife 'tis she's to blame,
Who carted off the Books — and sold them!