’Twas pretty little Laura Hayes
Whose charms my youthful heart excited;
I hadn’t been at school three days
Before our solemn troth was plighted.
I found my seat was by her side
(For all in school had settled places),
And there we both sat, open-eyed,
Staring with grave and solemn faces.
At last I kiss’d her, and instead
Of any show of feeling nettled,
She put her hand in mine, and said,
“I like you.” And so that was settled.
Why not? My age was six, or more,
As nearly as I now remember;
And Laura told me she was four
“The twenty-ninth of last November.”
Her face was round, her eyes were grey,
Her teeth were sharp as well as pearly
(She bit me in a tiff one day),
Her hair was long, and brown, and curly.
Our love was placid, calm, compact;
No sighs, no prayers, no doubts, no quaking;
No vows, or oaths; there was, in fact,
Plenty of love, but no love-making.
Few were our clouds, our April showers,
Our jealous quarrels, and repentance;
We used to sit and stare for hours,
And not exchange one single sentence.
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And, loving words thus being few,
We often found it very handy
To show our warmth of feeling through
The medium of our sugar-candy.
But other things as well as sweets
Form’d mute memorials of feeling;
As fruit, or pie-crust, potted meats,
Or toast, or even orange peeling.
So things went on, until at last
(Some comment having been excited),
I said that, after what had pass’d,
We really ought to get united.
But Laura took a different view,
Thought we were very well without it;
And ask’d me, likewise, if I knew
The proper way to set about it?
I told her (after some research)
All that was needful for our marriage
Was, just that we should go to church
And back again—but in a carriage.
She seem’d to like that; so I press’d
The matter with the greater vigour;
But then she said it would be best
To stay till we were rather bigger.
In spite of all that I could plead,
Laura’s resolve was only strengthen’d;
So that at length we both agreed
To wait until—her frocks were lengthen’d.
She gave me her most solemn word
Our smallness was the only reason
Which prompted, when she thus deferr’d
Our union to a future season.
Well, matters being settled so,
How came it that our love miscarried?
I cannot tell,—but this I know,
She’s not my wife, and I am married.
