“Come, tell me quick, the why, when, where, and how!”
Yet art thou lovely as the gentle light,
That falleth dew-sprent from the orbs of night;
And, wert thou fled, this world of ours would be
Dark as the Fates, and barren as the sea.
When wise, and kind, and generous, and mild,
Thou rul’st us, as a mother rules her child.
But when thy passions take their headlong way,
We scorn thine empire, and defy thy sway.—
Must, then, a pretty, peering, prying wife,