With “loves” and “doves” And white kid gloves The “honeymoon” will wane away; Each turn ’s a kiss, This new-born bliss Will last for thirty days, they say.
With gifts and glances And wedding dances, The time speeds onward far too fast; Such blushing, sighing, There’s no denying This novel love ’s too sweet to last.
They love and languish In blissful anguish, Till all around swims with delight; Their vows and pledges Set your teeth on edges, And they “bill and coo” till it dims your sight.
They seem so spooney They’re almost luny, This pair so lately joined in one. They loll and linger, Toy with hand and finger, And think life’s pleasures just begun.
Mistaken mortals! Life’s opening portals Admit a glare too bright too last; And “loves young dream,” Which now may seem Elysian joy, will soon be past.
I have an ambition to try to portray In rhythm a masculine model; So seldom such rarities brighten my way To the fields of wild fancy I’m driven to stray, And to paint my ideal in a rhyming array Will force me the muses to coddle.
Well, this model of mine is married, of course, For how could a bachelor be one? So I gauge him by marital morals and force; As a husband, he merits a crown for a cross, For he acts as a beau instead of a boss-- I’d go to the moon to see one.
He seldom or never goes out after night, As other men do, less devoted. To lodges and clubs, and to see every sight, Whether it be wrong or whether it be right; He never comes home either cranky or tight-- A fact which should be duly noted.
He never comes in from the office and cowls If dinner is late or not ready, Nor frowns nor feazes, nor fusses nor howls, Nor goes round the house and grumbles and growls, Nor blesses the knife as he cuts up the fowls, But always seems happy and steady.
He’s a model, indeed--content on a crust. No sighing for honor or riches; He’s as blind as a bat to cob-webs and dust; Nor any domestic derangement or rust Would he notice for worlds, for fear of a muss-- His thoughtfulness truly bewitches.
A buttonless shirt, or a hole in his hose, He views with happy contentment. Nor savagely scowls if his best Sunday clothes Get mussed in the closet; nor blusters nor blows, Nor curses the rocker for stumping his toes; My model is free from resentment.