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."


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