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Coventry Patmore - Olympus
Work rating: Low

Through female subtlety intense,
              Or the good luck of innocence,
              Or both, my Wife, with whom I plan
              To pass calm evenings when I can,
              After the chattering girls and boys
              Are gone, or the less grateful noise
              Is over, of grown tongues that chime
              Untruly, once upon a time
              Prevail`d with me to change my mind
               Of reading out how Rosalind
               In Arden jested, and to go
               Where people whom I ought to know,
               She said, would meet that night. And I,
               Who inly murmur`d, ‘I will try
               Some dish more sharply spiced than this
               Milk-soup men call domestic bliss,’
               Took, as she, laughing, bade me take,
               Our eldest boy`s brown wide-awake
               And straw box of cigars, and went
               Where, like a careless parliament
               Of gods olympic, six or eight
               Authors and else, reputed great,
               Were met in council jocular
               On many things, pursuing far
               Truth, only for the chase`s glow,
               Quick as they caught her letting go,     
               Or, when at fault the view-halloo,
               Playing about the missing clue.
               And coarse jests came; ‘But gods are coarse,’
               Thought I, yet not without remorse,
               While memory of the gentle words,
               Wife, Mother, Sister, flash`d like swords.
               And so, after two hours of wit,
               That burnt a hole where`er it hit,
               I said I would not stay to sup,
               Because my Wife was sitting up;
               And walk`d home with a sense that I
               Was no match for that company.
               Smelling of smoke, which, always kind,
               Amelia said she did not mind,
               I sipp`d her tea, saw Baby scold
               And finger at the muslin fold,
               Through which he push`d his nose at last,
               And choked and chuckled, feeding fast;
               And, he asleep and sent upstairs,
               She rang the servants in to prayers;
               And after heard what men of fame
               Had urged `gainst this and that. ‘For shame!’
               She said, but argument show`d not.
               ‘If I had answer`d thus,’ I thought,
               ‘`Twould not have pass`d for very wise.
               But I have not her voice and eyes!
               Howe`er it be, I`m glad of home,
               Yea, very glad at heart to come
               And lay a happy head to rest
               On her unreasonable breast.’
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