<p>The Conformers</p><p>Yes; we’ll wed, my little fay, And you shall write you mine, And in a villa chastely gray We’ll house, and sleep, and dine. But those night-screened, divine, Stolen trysts of heretofore, We of choice ecstasies and fine Shall know no more.</p><p>The formal faced cohue Will then no more upbraid With smiting smiles and whisperings two Who have thrown less loves in shade. We shall no more evade The searching light of the sun, Our game of passion will be played, Our dreaming done.</p><p>We shall not go in stealth To rendezvous unknown, But friends will ask me of your health, And you about my own. When we abide alone, No leapings each to each, But syllables in frigid tone Of household speech.</p><p>When down to dust we glide Men will not say askance, As now: ‘How all the country side Rings with their mad romance!’ But as they graveward glance Remark: ‘In them we lose A worthy pair, who helped advance Sound parish views.’</p>