De peúgas apenas...

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show’st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like art thou to joy remember’d well!

So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct but distant — clear — but, oh how cold!



Recitava ele, na sua imaculada cozinha, enquanto segurava uma coxa de frango na púcara, tendo por assistência o estendal improvisado das suas peúgas pretas.