LOVER LOQUITUR.
Liege lady! believe me,
All night, from my pillow
I heard, but to grieve me,
The plash of the willow;
The rain on the towers,
The winds without number,
In the gloom of the hours,
And denial of slumber:
And nigh to the dawning,—
My heart aching blindly,
Unresting and mourning
That you were unkindly—
What did I ostensibly,
Ah, what under heaven,
Liege lady! but sensibly
Doze till eleven?