The Conformers

Yes; we'll wed, my little fay,      And you shall write you mine,     And in a villa chastely gray      We'll house, and sleep, and dine.      But those night-screened, divine,      Stolen trysts of heretofore,     We of choice ecstasies and fine      Shall know no more.      The formal faced cohue      Will then no more upbraid     With smiting smiles and whisperings two      Who have thrown less loves in shade.      We shall no more evade      The searching light of the sun,     Our game of passion will be played,      Our dreaming done.      We shall not go in stealth      To rendezvous unknown,     But friends will ask me of your health,      And you about my own.      When we abide alone,      No leapings each to each,     But syllables in frigid tone      Of household speech.      When down to dust we glide      Men will not say askance,     As now: "How all the country side      Rings with their mad romance!"      But as they graveward glance      Remark: "In them we lose     A worthy pair, who helped advance      Sound parish views."