The Broken Engagement, Page 1 Of 4 Poem by John Bliven Morin

Part One,1880

Wednesday passed.
So did Thursday, somehow.
On Friday she arrived at last,
Dressed in the latest fashions
From Paris of course.
She laughed at my old carriage
And my single horse.
A coach-and-four were more
Her custom and her style,
But she allowed me to assist
Her up with the slightest smile,
And off we went.

Passing through the town
Which she called “provincial
And quaint, ” but with a frown,
“Is there really no theatre
Here? ” she asked with some
Surprise. “No, ” I replied,
“I’m quite afraid we have none.”
“Pity, ” she lamented.
I wondered what else this
Once school-mate now
Worldly woman missed
As we approached my home.

“Walter, dear, we must talk, ”
She said, turning to me
As we passed the chalk
Hill south of town.
“Please do go on, my dear, ”
I heard myself reply,
Though inwardly I felt a tear
In my heart, such as I had not
Felt for quite some time,
“Please continue, Alice, do.”
“Though we’ve been promised, I’m
Afraid I have to break
Our engagement, Walter, for
I met someone on holiday
Who’s not so desparately poor
As you, not that it’s your fault.
It’s amazing what just a few
Months on the Continent
Among such wealth can do
And so much culture.”