May you find a good husband and make a good wife.
I write here a name which I hope shall be known
To all of the ages which follow my own.
‘How conceited!’ you say; but my lines shall remain;
’Tis my hope, you’ll discover, not I, that is vain.
Our lives are albums; each new day’s a page
As spotless as the leaf on which I write.
Whene’er those books of ours shall be read,