Mrs. Macqueen (or the Lollie-Shop)

With glass like a bull’s-eye,
  And shutters of green,
  Down on the cobbles
  Lives Mrs. MacQueen,

At six she rises;
  At nine you see
  Her candle shine out
  In the linden tree:

And at half-past nine
  Not a sound is nigh
  But the bright moon’s creeping
  Across the sky;

Or a far dog baying;
  Or a twittering bird
  In its drowsy nest,
  In the darkness stirred;

Or like the roar
  Of a distant sea
  A long-drawn S-s-sh
  In the linden tree.