But only of this and that,—
Forget what’s awry and crooked,
And all that is sharp and sore.
Are you thirsty? I’ll fetch you water.
Can you stretch you? The bed is short.
Let me see;—if I don’t believe, now,
It’s the bed that I had when a boy!
Do you mind, dear, how oft in the evenings
You sat at my bedside here,
And spread the fur-coverlet o’er me,