Poem by Coventry Patmore

Unthrift

Ah, wasteful woman, she who may
On her sweet self set her own price,
Knowing men cannot choose but pay,
How she has cheapen'd paradise;
How given for nought her priceless gift,
How spoil'd the bread and spill'd the wine,
Which, spent with due, respective thrift,
Had made brutes men, and men divine. 

1. The Rosy Bosom’d Hours
2. Semele
3. The Barren Shore
4. The Circles
5. If I Were Dead

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