My presence shall your comfort be,
My sacred fire from cold secure you.
Nor scorn it, though your dazzled sight
No burst of lustrous splendour meets,
As with mild warmth each chilly night
It gently glides between the sheets.
More vivid fires gild yonder shrine,
Their blaze, ’tis true, more fiercely rages,
But, know, they give, unlike to mine,
More smoke than heat at certain ages.