A surprisingly tender poem from London, the reader hopes for the girl to reciprocate the boy's sentiments.

               The blushing dawn the easy illumes,
               The birds their merry matins sing,
               The buds breath forth their sweet perfumes,
               And butterflies are on the wing.

               I pause beneath the window high,
               The door is locked, the house is quiet;
               'Tis there, abed, she sure must lie, -
               To Wake her, - ah! I'll try it.

               And pebbles hurtling through the air,
               Strike full upon the window-pane,
               Awakening her who slumbers there
               With their insistent hurricane.

               Ye gods! in my imagination,
               The wondrous scene do I behold -
               A nymph's bewildered consternation
               At summons thus so fierce and bold.

               A moment passes, then I see
               The gauzy curtains drawn aside,
               And sweet eyes beaming down on me,
               And then a window upward glide.

               Fair as the morn, with rosy light,
               She blushes with a faint surprise,
               Then thinking of the previous night,
               In dulcet tones she softly cries:

               "It should have been put out by Nan,
               But I'll be down within a minute -
               No, never mind, leave your own can,
               And put two quarts, please, in it."

This poem is featured in our selection of Poetry for Students and 100 Great Poems.


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