And dear domestic niches,
All down the side which holds the heart,
That needle crave them stitches.
With deep amaze, the Stranger gaz’d
To see them so white-liver’d:
And walk’d abaft the binnacle,
To know at what they shiver’d;
But when he stood beside the card,
St. Josef! how it quiver’d!
No fancy-motion, brain-begot,