Classic Poem

Two grave brown eyes, severely bent
Upon a memorandum book —
A sparkling face, on which are blent
A hopeful and a pensive look;
A pencil, purse, and book of checks
With stubs for varying amounts —
Elaine, the shrewdest of her sex,
Is busy balancing accounts!

Sedately, in the big armchair,
She, all engrossed, the audit scans —
Her pencil hovers here and there
The while she calculates and plans;
What's this? A faintly pensive frown
Upon her forehead gathers now —
Ah, does the butcher — heartless clown —
Beget that shadow on her brow?

A murrain on the tradesman churl
Who caused this fair accountant's gloom!
Just then — a baby's cry — my girl
Arose and swiftly left the room.
Then in her purse by stratagem
I thrust some bills of small amounts —
She'll think she had forgotten them,
And smile again at her accounts!