When the gaslight shines full on your collar
It glitters with myriad stars,
That wouldn’t look well at my wedding;
They’d seem inappropriate there—
Nell doesn’t use diamond powder.
She tells me it ruins the hair.
You’ve been out on Cozzen’s piazza
Too late, when the evenings were damp,
When the moon-beams were silvering Cro’nest,
And the lights were all out in the camp.