Olympus

written by


« Reload image

Through female subtlety intense,
  Or the good luck of innocence,
  Or both, my Wife, with whom I plan
  To pass calm evenings when I can,
  After the chattering girls and boys
  Are gone, or the less grateful noise
  Is over, of grown tongues that chime
  Untruly, once upon a time
  Prevail'd with me to change my mind
  Of reading out how Rosalind
  In Arden jested, and to go
  Where people whom I ought to know,
  She said, would meet that night. And I,
  Who inly murmur'd, ‘I will try
  Some dish more sharply spiced than this
  Milk-soup men call domestic bliss,’
  Took, as she, laughing, bade me take,
  Our eldest boy's brown wide-awake
  And straw box of cigars, and went
  Where, like a careless parliament
  Of gods olympic, six or eight
  Authors and else, reputed great,
  Were met in council jocular
  On many things, pursuing far
  Truth, only for the chase's glow,
  Quick as they caught her letting go, 
  Or, when at fault the view-halloo,
  Playing about the missing clue.
  And coarse jests came; ‘But gods are coarse,’
  Thought I, yet not without remorse,
  While memory of the gentle words,
  Wife, Mother, Sister, flash'd like swords.
  And so, after two hours of wit,
  That burnt a hole where'er it hit,
  I said I would not stay to sup,
  Because my Wife was sitting up;
  And walk'd home with a sense that I
  Was no match for that company.
  Smelling of smoke, which, always kind,
  Amelia said she did not mind,
  I sipp'd her tea, saw Baby scold
  And finger at the muslin fold,
  Through which he push'd his nose at last,
  And choked and chuckled, feeding fast;
  And, he asleep and sent upstairs,
  She rang the servants in to prayers;
  And after heard what men of fame
  Had urged 'gainst this and that. ‘For shame!’
  She said, but argument show'd not.
  ‘If I had answer'd thus,’ I thought,
  ‘'Twould not have pass'd for very wise.
  But I have not her voice and eyes!
  Howe'er it be, I'm glad of home,
  Yea, very glad at heart to come
  And lay a happy head to rest
  On her unreasonable breast.’

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore