The Watchman drawls the hour of dawning day,
The breakfast booth is set with smoking tea,
The dancers homeward wind their weary way,
And leave the streets to morning and to me.
Now brighter beams upon the pavement dart,
Though yet a gen’ral silence holds the air,
Save where some gard’ner drives his early cart,
Or drowsy milkmen clank along the square:
Save that, disguised with liquor and with paint,
The fragile fair complains of some mishap,