  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? |
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