An’ the shadders stretchin’ in across the floor.
An’ the ivy-vines a-twinin’
Lend a sort o’ glory round,
When the listless autumn lights lie on the land,
There she takes her drowsy nap,
With her Bible in her lap,
Like as ef she’s claspin’ heaven by the hand.
There’s a sort o’ blendin’ beauty
’Twixt her cap-rim an’ her face,
An’ the hollyhocks an’ rustlin’ ripened corn,