Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/840

 And I rest so contentedly, Now, in my bed (With her love at my breast), That you fancy me dead— That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead.

But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie— It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie— With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie.

EDWARD FITZGERALD

1809-1883

697. Old Song

'Tis a dull sight To see the year dying, When winter winds Set the yellow wood sighing: Sighing, O sighing!

When such a time cometh I do retire Into an old room Beside a bright fire: O, pile a bright fire!