THE PASSIONATE PROFESSOR

Love, it is night. The orb of day

Has gone to hit the cosmic hay.

Nocturnal voices now we hear.

Come, heart's delight, the hour is near

When Passion's mandate we obey.

I would not, sweet, the fact convey

In any crude and obvious way:

I merely whisper in your ear —

“Love, it is night!”

Candor compels me, pet, to say

That years my fading charms betray.

Tho’ Love be blind, I grant it's clear

I'm no Apollo Belvedere.

But after dark all cats are gray.

Love, it is night!