I came across this MS poem in a National Trust House at the weekend; attributed 2 Jane Taylor (1783-1824) "The Lavenham poetess". But it might as well b entitled "The Disillusioned Husband", written at the height of the Age of Romanticism: unrealistic expectations unrealised!
Please post it under my real name,
THE DISILLUSIONED BRIDE
The twentieth week is well-nigh past,
Since first in Church we two were asked:
Oh! Would we had not gone at last.
Thy kindness has a fainter blow,
I see thee daily cooler grow,
How canst thou bear to serve me so?
And when sometimes thou wouldst fulfill
Some little office for me still,
Thy love now seconds not thy will.
Safely thou showest a tyrant's heart,
For Hymen's thread with cruel art
Hath bound us so we must not part.
Thy unpolite expressions seem
With no affection now to team
And never are my charms the theme.
Thy frowning eyes once mildly bright,
Oh! now more frightful in my sight
Than all the gloomy fiends of night.
Oh could I see nor them nor thee,
A happy creature I should be,
'Twould be a happy day for me.
Partaker of this strange decline,
My feelings too their warmth resign:
My flames can cool as well as thine.
Such feeble signs of love thou showest:
Thou does not love at all, thou knowest,
So don't pretend to say thou dost!
For me to love thus treated ill
Is quite beyond a woman's skill:
Indeed I neither can nor will.
But if much cooler thou dost grow,
Some proper spirit I shall show:
I will not long be treated so,
For should thy conduct still be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
I'll leave thee in the lurch at last.
A sad poem, I note. Chinese wisdom has it that husband and wife should always treat each other in the home as the other's honoured guest. Perhaps such a thing is only possible in the context of a Domestic Partnership, a concept I hope to pioneer and exploit commercially, in time, with the right sort of Domestic Partner.
Andromeda is still seeking her Perseus.