She seem’d in trouble, and unconscious sigh’d:
The faithful Husband, who devoutly loved
His silent partner, with concern reproved:
“What secret sorrows on my Anna press,
That love may not partake, nor care redress?”
“None, none,” she answer’d, with a look so kind
That the fond man determined to be blind.
A few succeeding weeks of brief repose
In Anna’s cheek revived the faded rose;
A hue like this the western sky displays,