Classic Poem

'Tis midnight in the skies, my dear.
'Tis night o'er fowl and fish!
I am not very wise, my dear,
In wishing such a wish:

Yet still methinks could I lie by
While you are soft asleep,
'T were sweet to hear your equal sigh,
To mark your dream—how deep!

But what is this? Ah, thought of dread!
Ah! thought of rage and shame!
That—lower when I lean my head—
I hear—the CURATE'S NAME!