Classic Poem

Fair was her young and girlish face,
Her lips were luscious red as wine;
Her willowy form betrayed a grace
That seemed to me to be divine.
One evening at the trysting-place
I asked this maiden to be mine.
Unhappy, thrice-unhappy youth
Was I to court the crushing blow;
But why delay the awful truth—
She April-fooled me years ago!

Filled with a ghastly, grim dismay
As kneeling at her feet I heard
This fair but cruel angel say
That last, unhappy, severing word,
I fluttered hopelessly away
Like some forlorn and stricken bird.
For years I played the cynic's part,
For years I nursed my secret woe;
And this reflection galled my heart—
She April-fooled me years ago!

But she is forty now, and fat,
And vanished all her graces are:
And many a lusty, brawling brat
Pulls at her skirts and calls her “ma,”
And I have information that
Her horrid husband tends a bar.
And when I see that fleeting years
Have changed my quondam angel so,
I thank my stars, 'mid grateful tears,
She April-fooled me years ago!