Did bid me wake, and whispered me
To look me to my heart.
Soft-nestled, warm, I found her resting there.
Guard me lest I tell;
But, heart o’erfull of loving,
Thee’lt surely spill good cheer!
The following week, without request, she gave this New Year’s poem, remarkable for the novelty of its treatment of a much worn theme:
The year hath sickened;
And dawning day doth show his withering;
And Death hath crept him closer on each hour.