WHAT’S the time of night, my dear?
For my maiden said, “I’ll come”—
Said “I’ll come,”—but is not here:
And ’tis now the midnight’s gloom.
Lone and silent home I turn’d;
But upon the bridge I met her—
Kiss’d her:—How my hot lips burned!—
How forget it—how forget her!
In one kiss full ten I drew:
And upon my lips there grew,
From that hour, a honey-dew,
As if sugar were my meat,
And my drink metheglin sweet.