I wake, the Sun does scatter into Flight
The Dreams of Happiness I have each Night,
O blessèd Dreams—full of Domestic Bliss,
Too soon alas! They're banished with the Light.
II
I'm going to tell in just the Briefest way
The cause of all my Anguish—if I may—
Then one and all will know the Reason why
My Mien is Solemn, and I am not Gay.
III
On Christmas day a good Friend did present
My Wife a Book; no doubt with best intent.
The "Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam" 'twas.
Little I dreamed the Woe of its Advent.
IV
After the rush of Holidays was o'er,
And things had settled back in Place once more,
Wife found the Time to revel in that Book,
And told me how she loved its Ancient Lore.