My thoughts were decidedly queer;
For I knew not the month was October,
And I marked not the night of the year;
I forgot that sweet morceau of Auber
That the band oft performed down here,
And I mixed the sweet music of Auber
With the Nightingale’s music of Shear.
And now as the night was senescent,
And the star-dials pointed to morn,
And car-drivers hinted of morn.