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Many a girl has waited long For a husband brave or strong; But I'm sure I never met Any sort of woman yet Who could wait a hundred years, Free from fretting, free from fears. Now, our story seems to show That a century or so, Late or early, matters not; True love comes by fairy-lot. Some old folk will even say It grows better by delay. Yet this good advice, I fear, Helps us neither there nor here. Though philosophers may prate How much wiser 'tis to wait, Maids will be a-sighing still -- Young blood must when young blood will! |
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