IN the midnight watches dreary,
At the hour when Arctus, weary,
Turns him toward Bootes' arm,
And the hapless race of mortals
Leave behind, at Slumber's portals,
Weariness and weird alarm,
As I lay serenely napping,
To the door came Cupid tapping,
"Who," cried I, "is at the door?
Why do you disturb my dreaming?"
Answered Love, with gentle seeming,
"Open for me, I implore.
"I am but an infant tearful,
Weak and helpless, be not fearful.
Wandering through the moonless night,
Read more in News
Notice.