My Wife

My little wife is out beyond the burn, I see her parasol behind the fir, And here am I inditing verse to her Ere she return.

That pretty bird is happy there conceal'd, This fragrant chamber smiles a peaceful smile, — What joy to sing the joys of home — the while My joy's afield!

My spouse is mild — she's meek as any nun, And yet her spiritual calm is such … Somehow one's always feeling she is much Too good for one.

She thinks I'm wise and handsome — 'tis her creed. I wonder am I either! On my word Sometimes I've wonder'd "an my bonnie bird" Think so indeed:

Perhaps! for she my homage ne'er repels; Perhaps I might have loved her half a life, Perhaps — had she but been the little wife Of some one else.

But why should I complain of cross or cares? While entertaining her (who won't complain) It may be I an angel entertain — And unawares.