Classic Poem

My husband is neither young nor old,
Though his hair is turning gray;
My temper is neither hot nor cold,
Yet I mope the livelong day.

My house is neither spacious nor small;
'Tis built in the usual way,
And nicely furnished from garret to hall,
Yet I mope the livelong day.

We have children twain, a boy and a girl,
My every wish they obey,
Tom's a rough diamond, Maud is a pearl,
Yet I mope the livelong day.

Abroad I may either walk or drive,
As it suits my humour's play;
We breakfast at nine and dine at five,
And I mope the livelong day.

The bees that feed all winter on honey
To flowers return in May;
All seasons are like, with plenty of money,
Yet I mope the livelong day.

My husband's the bee that gathers the sweets,
In sunshine he makes the hay,
And drudges in rain through muddy streets
While I mope the livelong day.

When dinner is over, he like a drone
On the sofa snoozes away,
And over the paper I mope alone
At night — as I moped all day.

They called me lovely when I was young,
And fond of praise and display;
'Tis a tale that's told and a song that's sung,
For I mope the livelong day.

An old admirer unto me came,
Resolved fresh homage to pay,
And tenderly sighing he whispered his flame
As I moped at home one day.

He came just after the postman's bell —
My husband was far away —
And when he swore that he loved me well,
I moped no more that day.

An Indian god in a jewelled shrine
Condemned for ever to stay,
Like me — if alive — would mope and pine
When alone the livelong day.

From worship to earthly love is a stride —
A stage without a relay —
The abrupt transition touched my pride,
And I moped no more that day.

He seized my hand and I felt a spark,
His eye shot a wicked ray
Which I sometimes see again in the dark,
When I've moped the livelong day.

Though I forgave him he wanted still more;
I scorned my vows to betray,
But ordered him to be shown the door,
And moped no more that day.

And I sometimes wish that this stupid life
Might finish without delay;
I'm a virtuous, uncomplaining wife,
But I mope the livelong day.

And when to our marble church we go,
I wonder why people pray,
For I have everything here below,
Yet I mope the livelong day.