Classic Poem

Although the incandescent filament
Glows steadily in the bulb; and all is bright
About them in the room; and snug content
Seems theirs, as by the cosy hearth they sit —
With eyes that watch his wife so calmly knit
In the serene cold glow, he hankers still
For the old happy times, when all love's light
Was only a gusty lanthorn in the night,
As they, together, climbed the Plover Hill.