Hear’st thou that gleeful shout?  Who opes the gate,
  The neatly painted gate, and runs before
  With noisy joy?  Now from the trellised door
  Toddles another bright-haired boy.  And now
  Captive they lead the father; strong their grasp;
  He cannot break away. 
                         Dreamily quiet
  The dewy twilight of a summer eve. 
  Tired mortals lounge at casement or at door,
  While deepening shadows gather round.  No lamp
  Save in yon shop, whose sable minister
  His evening customers attends.  Anon,
  With squeaking bucket on his arm, emerges
  The errand-boy, slow marching to the tune
  Of “Uncle Ned” or “Norma,” whistled shrill. 
  Hark! heard you not against the window-pane
  The dash of horny skull in mad career,
  And a loud buzz of terror?  He’ll be in,
  This horrid beetle; yes,—­and in my hair! 
  Close all the blinds; ’t is dismal, but ’t is safe. 
  Listen!  Methought I heard delicious music,
  Faint and afar.  Pray, is the Boat-Club out? 
  Do the Pierian minstrels meet to-night? 
  Or chime the bells of Boston, or the Port? 
  Nearer now, nearer—­Ah! bloodthirsty villain,
  Is ’t you?  Too late I closed the blind!  Alas! 
  List! there’s another trump!—­There, two of ’em!—­
  Two?  A quintette at least.  Mosquito chorus! 
  A—­ah! my cheek!  And oh! again, my eyelid! 
  I gave myself a stunning cuff on the ear
  And all in vain.  Flap we our handkerchief;
  Flap, flap! (A smash.) Quick, quick, bring in a lamp! 
  I’ve switched a flower-vase from the shelf.  Ah me! 
  Splash on my head, and then upon my feet,
  The water poured;—­I’m drowned! my slipper’s full! 
  My dickey—­ah! ’t is cruel!  Flowers are nonsense! 
  I’d have them amaranths all, or made of paper. 
  Here, wring my neckcloth, and rub down my hair! 
    Now Mr. Brackett, punctual man, is ringing
  The curfew bell; ’t is nine o’clock already. 
  ’T is early bedtime, yet methinks ’t were joy
  On mattress cool to stretch supine.  At midnight,
  Were it winter, I were less fatigued, less sleepy. 
  Sleep!  I invoke thee, “comfortable bird,
  That broodest o’er the troubled waves of life,
  And hushest them to peace.”  All hail the man
  Who first invented bed!  O, wondrous soft
  This pillow to my weary head! right soon
  My dizzy thoughts shall o’er the brink of sleep
  Fall into chaos and be lost.  I dream. 
  Now comes mine enemy, not silently,
  But with insulting and defiant warning;
  Come, banquet, if thou wilt; I offer thee
  My cheek, my arm.  Tease me not, hovering high
  With that continuous hum; I fain would rest. 
  Come, do thy worst at once.  Bite, scoundrel, bite! 
  Thou insect vulture, seize thy helpless prey! 
  No ceremony! (I’d have none with thee,
  Could I but find thee.) Fainter now and farther