 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
SONG OF THE HENPECKED
O her hair is as dark as the midnight wave,
And her eye is like kindling fire,
And her voice is sweet as the spirit's voice
That chords with the seraph's lyre.
And her eye is like kindling fire,
And her voice is sweet as the spirit's voice
That chords with the seraph's lyre.
But her nails are as sharp as a toasting fork,
And her arms as strong as a bear's;
She pulled my hair, and she gouged my eye,
And she kicked me down the stairs.
And her arms as strong as a bear's;
She pulled my hair, and she gouged my eye,
And she kicked me down the stairs.
I've got me an eye that's made of—glass,
And I've got me a wig that's new,—
The wig is frizzled in corkscrew curls,
And the eye is a clouded blue.
And I've got me a wig that's new,—
The wig is frizzled in corkscrew curls,
And the eye is a clouded blue.
She may shake her knuckles full in my face,
And put the lamp to my beard,
And hold the broomstick over my head,—
But I am not a bit afeard.
And put the lamp to my beard,
And hold the broomstick over my head,—
But I am not a bit afeard.
For I've bound her over to keep the peace,
And I've bought me a crabtree cane,—
The justice will come, and the constable too,
If she meddles with me again.
And I've bought me a crabtree cane,—
The justice will come, and the constable too,
If she meddles with me again.
My head was a week in the linen cap.
And my eye a month in the patch;
I never thought that the torch of love
Would light such a brimstone match!
And my eye a month in the patch;
I never thought that the torch of love
Would light such a brimstone match!
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |