Many a night I’ve watched the gas-light—all around a dazzling host,
Gleaming like a lot of glow-worms, stuck by bird-lime on a post.
In the Spring a lighter paletot is by Messrs. Nicoll made;
In the Spring a young man’s neck is in a brighter tie arrayed;
In the Spring the Opera opens, and an order may be got;
In the Spring the oysters finish, as the weather gets too hot.
Then I saw her dress was smarter than the other Cranbourne girls,
And her eyes gleamed softly on me, shaded by her glossy curls,
And I said, “Dear Amy Johnson, wilt thou my own sweetheart be?
For, my pretty bonnet builder, I am much in love with thee!”