There never are less than six competing.
Why can I not love a single girl?
Contented I and my love were mated
In those brave days when we both were young.
For marriage I'm now too complicated,
Too many-natured, too finely-strung.
My spreading canvas all zephyrs vary
For one calm funnel how can I furl?
In truth, the statute is somewhat chary.
And old, and grey, grows the dearest girl!