Life, like a secret, is too much for one—­
  May be too little where numbers are great—­
  All may be vanity under the sun,
  But all is charming when done tete a tete.

  Neighbours will call—­what a trouble it is! 
  Dinners and parties are made for our sake: 
  Why must society trouble our bliss? 
  Dinners and neighbours are quite a mistake!

  Drest as a bride, I must dine at the Grange;
  Harry beside me, I have not a care;
  Only it seems so exceedingly strange
  Not to be thinking of meeting him there!

  Jane does my hair with a skill, I confess,
  Smilingly thinking of days that are gone,
  When for a party I ran up to dress
  With neither a husband nor maid of my own.

  Life that is past, did you certainly pass? 
  When were you actual? how did you change? 
  Who is this girl that I see in the glass
  Thinking of things that are happy and strange?

  Who is this man who may enter the room,
  Placidly certain his presence must please,
  Settle her colours, select her perfume,
  Hands in his pockets serenely at ease: 

  Who can the girl be, and who is the man? 
  Light-hearted creatures who live but to love! 
  ‘Tis the result of the Angels’ kind plan,
  One of the marriages made up above!

  Hand laid in hand to the stairs we advance,
  Feet scarcely touching the carpet at all: 
  Why should they walk who are able to dance? 
  Clasping each other, we waltz through the hall!

  Pleasant the drive in the twilight’s soft gloom;
  Dazzling the change to society’s light;
  Proud of my Harry I enter the room,
  Every eye on my gallant young knight.

  Lovely the welcome around me I see—­
  Will it be thus through a beautiful life? 
  Everybody attentive to me,
  And only because I am Harry’s wife?

  Dear to my heart are the glitter and grace;
  But nothing so charming, or bright, is here
  As the gracious smile upon Harry’s face,
  Or his manly voice as it greets my ear.

  As from the banquet the ladies depart
  I hear two gentlemen murmuring low—­
  ’The Captain has got an excellent start
  But he won’t set the Thames on fire, you know!’

Then I look back and attempt to decide Who is this Captain who must not aspire; I meet Harry’s eyes, and I smile with pride, For I know he could set the Thames on fire!

  Afterwards music; he sings and I sing,
  She sings and they sing, and minutes flit past:—­
  Harmony certainly quickens Time’s wing,
  And the lark sings loudest when flying fast.

HIS SONG.