"And now, blow out your candle, lad, and get to bed.
See, the dawn is in the sky. Open your window and let its freshness
rouge your cheek. You've earned your rest. Sleep."

Aye, but before I do so, let me read again the last of my ~Ballads~.




The Sewing-Girl



The humble garret where I dwell
Is in that Quarter called the Latin;
It isn't spacious -- truth to tell,
There's hardly room to swing a cat in.
But what of that! It's there I fight
For food and fame, my Muse inviting,
And all the day and half the night
You'll find me writing, writing, writing.

Now, it was in the month of May
As, wrestling with a rhyme rheumatic,
I chanced to look across the way,
And lo! within a neighbor attic,
A hand drew back the window shade,
And there, a picture glad and glowing,