While on my lonely couch I lie, I seldom feel myself alone, For fancy fills my dreaming eye With scenes and pleasures of its own. Then I may cherish at my breast An infant's form beloved and fair, May smile and soothe it into rest With all a Mother's fondest care.
Anne Bronte
How sweet to feel its helpless form Depending thus on me alone! And while I hold it safe and warm What bliss to think it is my own! To feel my hand so kindly prest, To know myself beloved at last, To think my heart has found a rest, My life of solitude is past!
life solitude rest
rest
What are you, sir, that you should set yourself up as a god, and presume to dispute possession of my heart with Him to whom I owe all I have and all I am, every blessing I ever did or ever can enjoy - and yourself among the rest - if you are a blessing, which I am half inclined to doubt.
doubt rest
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