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A Holiday

 The Wife
The house is like a garden,
The children are the flowers,
The gardener should come methinks
And walk among his bowers,
Oh! lock the door on worry
And shut your cares away,
Not time of year, but love and cheer,
Will make a holiday.
The Husband Impossible! You women do not know The toil it takes to make a business grow.
I cannot join you until very late, So hurry home, nor let the dinner wait.
The Wife The feast will be like Hamlet Without a Hamlet part: The home is but a house, dear, Till you supply the heart.
The Xmas gift I long for You need not toil to buy; Oh! give me back one thing I lack – The love-light in your eye.
The Husband Of course I love you, and the children too.
Be sensible, my dear, it is for you I work so hard to make my business pay.
There, now, run home, enjoy your holiday.
The Wife (turning) He does not mean to wound me, I know his heart is kind.
Alas! that man can love us And be so blind, so blind.
A little time for pleasure, A little time for play; A word to prove the life of love And frighten care away! Tho’ poor my lot in some small cot That were a holiday.
The Husband (musing) She has not meant to wound me, nor to vex – Zounds! but ‘tis difficult to please the sex.
I’ve housed and gowned her like a very queen Yet there she goes, with discontented mien.
I gave her diamonds only yesterday: Some women are like that, do what you may.

Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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