Amos SibleyNot character, not fortitude, not patienceWere mine, the which the village thought I hadIn bearing with my wife, while preaching on,Doing the work God chose for me.I loathed her as a termagant, as a wanton.I knew of her adulteries, every one.But even so, if I divorced the womanI must forsake the ministry.Therefore to do God’s work and have it crop,I bore with herSo lied I to myselfSo lied I to Spoon River!Yet I tried lecturing, ran for the legislature,Canvassed for books, with just the thought in mind:If I make money thus,I will divorce her.
Not character, not fortitude, not patienceWere mine, the which the village thought I hadIn bearing with my wife, while preaching on,Doing the work God chose for me.I loathed her as a termagant, as a wanton.I knew of her adulteries, every one.But even so, if I divorced the womanI must forsake the ministry.Therefore to do God’s work and have it crop,I bore with herSo lied I to myselfSo lied I to Spoon River!Yet I tried lecturing, ran for the legislature,Canvassed for books, with just the thought in mind:If I make money thus,I will divorce her.