Classic Poem

A gentle, patient, loving wife,
She moves among the merry scenes,
Where none knows what the other means,
And blunders fill the stage with strife.

At each Antipholus oft we smile,
And the two Dromios wake our laughter,
But Adriana haunts us after
Master and man no more beguile

Her naiad face, her classic air,
Elizabethan half, half Greek,
Her tuneful voice, so wifely-meek,
Make up an impersonation rare.

Sweet dame, for thee was writ this play,
The woman Shakespeare drew, thou art;
The fair creation of his heart
Embodied in our later day!