Tell Me Straight

My love, you come at last to me.
And we may speak of what will be
For us in all our future years:
Our hopes, our dreams, our dreads, our fears.
I was afraid, as you were late,
You would not come. And yet, but wait -
What is this look upon your face?
A look of shame and deep disgrace?
What is it, love, that grieves you so?
What's shadowing the joyful glow
Which, of late, has never strayed
From your visage, now so dismayed?

You say that you must bear bad news:
That sadly, this has been a ruse,
A joke, a bet among your friends!
That now, regretably, must end!
You think I am a simpleton!
That your family, at last, has won!
Oh yes, I know of all those sneers,
The gossip rife among your peers
That I, no lady of your class,
Am fit only to polish brass.
But I have news for you, my dear:
Your pathetic lies can't fool my ear.

If you can look me in the eye
And tell me straight - I'll have no lie -
That you can find in all the earth,
One woman equal to my worth,
Then I shall leave without a trace,
And let no tear streak down my face.
But if you cannot do this thing,
Then you must give to me that ring,
Which binds us, oh so sacredly,
To be as one eternally.
Then disapproving ignorance
Shall no more be of consequence.