But the poor craven bridegroom said never a word;
And the parent so proud did champ in her woe.
The knight snatched her swiftly into the Ford,
And she smiled as he steered adown the Boulevard;
Then away they did race until soon lost to view,
And all knew 'twas best for these lovers so true.
For where, tell me where, would have gone that bride's bliss?
Who flouts at true love all true happiness must miss!
What matters the vain things of Earth, soon or late,
If the heart of a loved one in anguish doth break?
When she came to the triumphant close, among the fragrant cherry
blooms the birds were twittering their lullabies. She went in to say
her own good night, the Poem, much erased and interlined, tucked in
the front of her blouse together with ineffable sensations. But she
was not, for all that, beyond a certain concern for material
details. "Mother, may I do my hair up in kid-curlers?" she asked.
"Why, this is only Wednesday." Mother's tone connoted the fact that
"waves," rippling artificially either side of Missy's "part" down to
her two braids, achieved a decorative effect reserved for Sundays
and special events.
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