Is over, and the quiet eve its labors shall repay.
Come, I will pull the sofa round, and pile the cushions higher,
And Gheber-like, thou shalt adore this comfort-beaming fire.
How shall I pet thee, weary one?—I love to tend on thee;
Shall I sit here, and let thee rest thy head upon my knee?
I will not light the tapers yet—I like this pleasant gloom,
With the red blaze at intervals illumining the room,
Reflected in thy sparkling eye, and gleaming on thy brow:
My prized, my own, my only one, how lovely look’st thou now!
What happiness to gaze on thee! after the bitter years