Rather than lonely vigils keep,
I’d wed and sigh, and groan and weep.
Yes, I can say, though tears fall quick,
Can say, while briny tear-drops start,
I’d rather wed a crooked stick
Than never wed no stick at all.
Sooner than laughed at be, as of yore,
I’d rather laugh myself no more.
I’d rather go half-clad and starved,
And mops and dish-cloths madly wave,