At least, my love
More further’d me than Haydn. With all I long’d
And all I toil’d, Doretta was the one
Who could the best succeed in aiding him.
For she at home had dwelt, knew household ways;
And I was but a bungler, knew them not.
And so to me was mainly given the task,
To fan him while he slept. But, when he woke,
Although his lips would move with no complaint,
Nor eyes would glance for other than myself,