’Tis forty years, this very day,
Since you and I, old girl, were married.
“Look out! The sun shines warm and bright;
The stiles are low, the paths all dry:
I know you cut your corns last night;
Come! be as free from care as I.
“For I’m resolved once more to see
That place where we so often met;
Though few have had more cares than we,
We’ve none just now to make us fret.”