Classic Poem

When my heart adored her first
She was still a rosebud tender,
But the rose in blossom burst,
And she grew and waxed in splendour.

Not a rose in all the land
Was so fair in its completeness,
But with thorns she pricked my hand,
When I fain had plucked her sweetness.

Now at last, when overblown
And defaced by wind and showers,
I am " Dearest Henry " grown,
And her kindness overpowers.

Henry here and Henry there!
Fond the voice that was so flouting,
And, if thorns are anywhere,
On her chin you'll see them sprouting.

On the chin by warts defiled
Bristles hard have found a harbour —
Get thee to a nunnery, child:
Either that, or to the barber.