The hearth, the lamp’s narrow glow;
Reverie, one finger pressed against the temple,
And eyes losing themselves among beloved eyes;
The hour of steaming tea and books now closed;
The sweetness of feeling the evening draw to its end;
The charming weariness, and cherished anticipation
Of the bridal darkness and the gentle night—
Oh! all this my tender dream pursues
Without respite, through every futile delay,
Impatient with the months, furious with the weeks!
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