The clink of coffee-cups is pleasant here.
See, I have drawn the curtains fast, and shut
The moon's distracting light from our bright hearth.
Your grave brown warmth is heightened so
And I do not remember with such pain how sweet
The star's carress falls on the traveller's face,
When first he lifts it up to worship them.
Manuscripts: Vol. 9
, Article 4.
Retrieved from: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol9/iss3/4