Happier? Away! such thoughts I spurn.
I count it true, from spring to fall,
’Tis better to be wed, and groan,
Than never to be wed at all.
I’d work my hands down to the bone
Rather than rest a maiden lone.
This truth I will not, cannot shirk,
I feel it when I sorrow most:
I’d rather break my back with work,
And haggard look as any ghost,—