A POSSIBILITY.

If the wicked gods were willing

( Pray it never may be true! )

That a universal chilling

Should ensue

Of the sentiment of loving,—

If they made a great undoing

Of the plan of turtle-doving,

Then farewell all poet-lore,

Evermore.

If there were no more of billing

There would be no more of cooing

And we all should be but owls —

Lonely fowls

Blinking wonderfully wise,

With our great round eyes —

Sitting singly in the gloaming and no longer two and two,

As unwilling to be wedded as unpracticed how to woo;

With regard to being mated,

Asking still with aggravated

Ungrammatical acerbity: “To who? To who?”