My last we all admit to be
A blessing unsurpassed;
Though some would give my last for all,
Some give all for my last.
We often pass my total by
With but a hurried look;
And though we cannot read it, yet
We find it in a book.
[78]
I WAS sitting in my study—
In my first the fire was ruddy,
And I watched it as I idly clasped my whole;
Though a sober man I ’m reckoned,
To my lips I raised my second,
For I never was addicted to the bowl.
I was waiting for my daughter,
And at last I went and sought her—
She has tresses like a golden aureole;
But she hastily retreated,
For her face was flushed and heated,
And her pretty curls were clustering round my whole.
[79]
MY first did my last
To make my whole;
His day is past,
Poor, restless soul!