Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/104

84 There with these

You shall give ear to breaking seas

And windmills turning in the breeze,

A distant undetermined din

Without; and you shall hear within

The blazing and the bickering logs,

The crowing child, the yawning dogs,

And ever agile, high and low,

Our Nelly going to and fro.

There shall you all silent sit,

Till, when perchance the lamp is lit

And the day's labour done, she takes

Poor Otto down, and, warming for our sakes,

Perchance beholds, alive and near,

Our distant faces reappear.

MY LOVE WAS WARM