As he took a careful account of stock.
Sometimes she hated the very walls—
Hated her friends, her dinners, and calls.
Till her weak affection to hatred turned
Like a dying tallow candle burned.
And for him who sat there her peace to mar,
Smoking his everlasting cigar.
He wasn’nt the man she thought she saw
And grief was duty, and hate was law.
So she took up her burden with a groan