Yet our home is all the brighter
For that dainty, sensient thing,
That floats away where it properly may,
And clings where it ought to cling;
And I count myself the luckiest
Of all us married men
That I have a wife whose joy in life
Is a gown at two pounds ten.
It isn't the gown compels me
Condone this venial sin;
It's the pretty face above the lace,
And the gentle heart within.
And with her arms about me
I say, and say again,
"'Twas wondrous cheap,"—and I think a heap
Of that gown at two pounds ten!