'We tarry here too long.'
"Straight to the wicket did she speed;
'Good watchman, spare thy joke!
Warn not my love, till o'er the mead
The morning sun has broke:
Too short, alas! the time, since here
I tarried with my leman dear,
In love and converse sweet.'
"'Lady, be warn'd! on roof and mead
The dew drops glitter gay;