And thus was spent that vernal day,
Till twilight checked the noisy play; 85
Then did they feel a languor spread
Over their limbs, the beating tread
Was stilled—the busy throbbing heart—
And silently we all depart.
The shelter of our rustic cot 90
Receives us, and we envy not
The palace, or the stately dome;
But wish that all had such a home.