Waitress , with eyes so marvellous black
And the blackest possible lustrous gay tress,
This is the month of the Zodiac
When I want a pretty deft-handed waitress.
Bring a china-bowl, you merry young soul;
Bring anything green, from worsted to celery;
Bring pure olive-oil, from Italy's soil . . .
Then your china-bowl we'll well array.

When the time arrives chip choicest chives,
And administer quietly chili and capsicum . . .
(Young girls do not quite know what's what
Till as a Poet into their laps I come).
Then a lobster fresh as fresh can be
(When it screams in the pot I feel a murderer);
After which I fancy we
Shall want a few bottles of Heidsieck or Roederer.