To His Lady, Philosophy
Of fen-fires in a world of smoke,
Or somewhat silly and insane
About the making of a song;
Nor mock me that my face is plain,
Nor chide me that I am not strong.
Nay, kinder than a woman is,
You will not mock my vagaries.
III
When all my heart is laden down
With worldly worries, worldly fears,
You will nor pucker-lip nor frown
Nor make me gloomier with tears.
You will not make my sorrow sad
With weeping and with wretchedness
When all the goods I ever had
Have vanished in the market's press.
You will not sob nor make a scene
When I come sadly home at night
To tell you that my hopes have been
Blown and blasted out of sight.
We two will light our pipe o' clay
And laugh and blow the world away.
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