the Pumpkin Eaters Wife

Old Peter's wife, a madcap bagatelle,
Tossed her young head and vowed she would not stay
 At home; sometimes, moonstruck, she was away
All night-until he shut her in a shell.
There through long years he kept her very well;
 Nor from her pumpkin-prison could she stray;
 Nor could she now be restless, eager, gay.
 With her horizon but a yellow cell.
And when at last it happened that she died,
He hardly missed her: she had grown to be
 So quiet, self-effacing, calm, and slow.
 This wifely paragon he brushed aside
To cherish in his aching memory
 The truant bride who left him long ago.

 IRENE TAYLOR.