My Bride Is Not Coming, Alas! Says The Groom, And The Telegram Shakes In His Hand. "I Own It Was Hurried! We Met At A Dancing-Room When I Went To The Cattle-Show Alone, And Then, Next Night, Where The Fountain Leaps, And The Street Of The Quarter-Circle Sweeps. "Ay, She Won Me To Ask Her To Be My Wife - 'Twas Foolish Perhaps! To Forsake The Ways Of The Flaring Town For A Farmer'S Life. She Agreed. And We Fixed It. Now She Says: 'It's Sweet Of You, Dear, To Prepare Me A Nest, But A Swift, Short, Gay Life Suits Me Best. What I Really Am You Have Never Gleaned; I Had Eaten The Apple Ere You Were Weaned.'"