Many a girl has waited long
For a husband brave or strong;
But I’m sure I never met
Any sort of woman yet
who could wait a hundred years,
Free from fretting, free from fears.
Now, our story seems to show
That a century or so,
Late or early, matters not;
True love comes by fairy-lot.
Some old folk will even say
It grows better by delay.
Yet this good advice, I fear,
Helps us neither there nor here.
Though philosophers may prate
How much wiser'tis to wait,
Maids will be a-sighing still--
Young blood must when young blood will!
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