Comfort and indolence are cronies.

We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.

There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.

Comfort and indolence are cronies.

The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.

The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!

She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.