Bearing her part, sustain with him the heat
And burden of the day. But now the hour,
The heavy hour is come, when human strength
Sinks down, a toil-worn pilgrim, in the dust,
Owning that woe is mightier! Spare me yet
This bitter cup, my husband! Let not her,
The mother of the lovely, sit and mourn
In her unpeopled home—a broken stem,
O’er its fallen roses dying!
Gon. Urge me not,