You know, I like you awfully, Jess,

Phyllis, the same applies to you,

To Edith and to Mary no less,

Also to others, not a few.

Yet some of you are rather "mad,"

You choose to feel, I understand, a

Slight sense of injury, since I've had

The glorious luck to win Amanda.

I wish, sincerely, it were not

Impossible for me to fall

In love with some of you—a lot—

In fact I'd gladly love you all!

But, when you come to think it out,

I'm sure my reasoning will strike you,

You'll find it, I can have no doubt,

More flattering that I should like you.

Fate sends their wives to poor and rich,

Fate does not send them thus their friends;

Then let my final couplet (which

I rather fancy) make amends.

This fundamental truth, I trust,

My seeming fickleness excuses—

One simply loves because one must

Whereas one likes because one chooses!