I sat by the fire and watched it blaze,
And dreamed that she wrote me a letter,
And for that dream to the end of my days
To Fancy I owe myself debtor.
Next day there came the postman's knock,
The morning was bright and sunny,
And showed me a sheaf of circulars, stock
Attempts to get hold of my money.
‘ Mid correspondence of this dull kind
A dainty notelet lay hidden,
It seemed as though it had half a mind
To consider itself forbidden.
The writing was like herself, complete,
With a touch of her queenly bearing,
So Venus wrote when she ordered in Crete
Her doves to take her an airing.
Inside it was just as promising,
‘ Twas a pressing invitation
To dine at her house to-morrow, and bring
My book for her approbation.
For I have published, be it confessed,
A little volume of verses,
And in the volume whatever is best
The praise of herself rehearses.
I sit by the fire, and again I dream
A happier dream than ever,
I see her beautiful eyes soft gleam
As she murmurs, “How lovely — how clever!”
Her criticism may be commonplace,
But who can be angry after
Now sweet with pity he marks her face,
Now bright with impulsive laughter?