A Possibility

If the wicked gods were willing
  (Pray it never may be true!)
That a universal chilling
    Should ensue
Of the sentiment of loving⁠—
  If they made a great undoing
Of the plan of turtle-doving,
  Then farewell all poet-lore,
    Evermore.
If there were no more of billing
  There would be no more of cooing
And we all should be but owls⁠—
    Lonely fowls
Blinking wonderfully wise,
  With our great round eyes⁠—
Sitting singly in the gloaming and no longer two and two,
As unwilling to be wedded as unpracticed how to woo;
  With regard to being mated,
  Asking still with aggravated
Ungrammatical acerbity: “To who? To who?”