Grounds for Divorce.

                He.

What can a man do when a woman's perverse,
And determined to have her own way?

                She.

At the altar you took me for better or worse:
Am I worse than you took me for--say,
            Silly elf?--
Am I worse than you took me for, say?

                He.

For an angel I took you in beauty and worth--
The PRIEST a mere woman has given!

                She.

A MAN would prefer a true woman on earth,
To all the bright angels in heaven--
            Silly elf!--
To all the bright angels in heaven!

                He.

You are ever ready my feelings to hurt
At the veriest trifle, of course.

                She.

Forgetting a button to sew on your shirt
You deem a good ground for divorce--
            Silly elf!--
You deem a good ground for divorce!

                He.

Well, marriage a lottery is, and a blank
Some men surely draw all their lives.

                She.

Such fellows as you, sir, themselves have to thank;
Good husbands make always good wives--
            Silly elf!--
GOOD HUSBANDS MAKE ALWAYS GOOD WIVES!

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

Words

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Fallen Brave.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Silent Grief.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Masonic Hymn.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To Eliza.

1.

Eliza! ^[1] what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who, to woman, deny the soul's future existence;
Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.


2.

Had their Prophet possess'd half an atom of sense,
He ne'er would have woman from Paradise driven;
Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretence,
With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven.


3.

Yet, still, to increase your calamities more,
Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four! -
With souls you'd dispense; but, this last, who could bear it?


4.

His religion to please neither party is made;
On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives m...

George Gordon Byron

To Miss E.P.

1.

Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who to woman deny the soul's future existence,
Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.

2.

Had their Prophet possess'd but an atom of sense,
He ne'er would have woman from Paradise driven,
But instead of his Houris a flimsy pretence,
With woman alone, he had peopled his Heaven.

3.

But still to increase your calamities more,
Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots but one husband to share amongst four,
With souls you'd dispense - but this last who could bear it.

4.

His religion to please neither party is made,
On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
But I can't contradi...

George Gordon Byron

The Ill-Married.

If worth, were not a thing more rare
Than beauty in this planet fair,
There would be then less need of care
About the contracts Hymen closes.
But beauty often is the bait
To love that only ends in hate;
And many hence repent too late
Of wedding thorns from wooing roses.^[1]
My tale makes one of these poor fellows,
Who sought relief from marriage vows,
Send back again his tedious spouse,
Contentious, covetous, and jealous,
With nothing pleased or satisfied,
This restless, comfort-killing bride
Some fault in every one descried.
Her good man went to bed too soon,
Or lay in bed till almost noon.
Too cold, too hot, - too black, too white, -
Were on her tongue from morn till night.
The servants mad and madder grew;
The husband knew not ...

Jean de La Fontaine

A Bachelor To A Married Flirt

All that a man can say of woman's charms,
    Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told
To you a thousand times.    Your perfect arms
    (A replica from that lost Melos mould),
The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown
With full intent to make their splendours known),

Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile),
    The (artful) artlessness of all your ways,
Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile -
    All these have had my fond and frequent praise.
And something more than praise to you I gave -
Something which made you know me as your slave.

Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel.
    Here in this morning hour, from you apart,
The mood is on me to be frank and tell
    The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart.
These...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

His Last Letter

Well, you are free;
The longed for, lied for, waited for decree
Is yours to-day.
I made no protest; and you had your say,
And left me with no vestige of repute.
Neglect, abuse, and cruelty you charge
With broken marriage vows.    The list is large
But not to be denied.    So I was mute.

Now you shall listen to a few plain facts
Before you go out wholly from my life
As some man's wife.
Read carefully this statement of your acts
Which changed the lustre of my honeymoon
To sombre gloom,
And wrenched the cover from Pandora's box.

In those first talks
'Twixt bride and groom I showed you my whole heart,
Showed you how deep my love was and how true;
With all a strong man's feeling I loved YOU:
(God, how I loved you, my one chosen mate.)

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Separation

HE

One decade and a half since first we came
With hearts aflame
Into Love's Paradise, as man and mate;
And now we separate.
Soon, all too soon,
Waned the white splendour of our honeymoon.
    We saw it fading; but we did not know
    How bleak the path would be when once its glow
Was wholly gone.
And yet we two were forced to follow on -
    Leagues, leagues apart while ever side by side.
    Darker and darker grew the loveless weather,
Darker the way,
Until we could not stay
    Longer together.
    Now that all anger from our hearts has died,
And love has flown far from its ruined nest,
To find sweet shelter in another breast,
    Let us talk calmly of our past mistakes,
    And of our faults; if only for the sakes
Of those wit...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox