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And strew fresh blossoms at Amy's feet
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Ring merrily out, cathedral bells
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But hotter than Summer my blood's free flow
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O now may I gaze in her deep grey eyne!
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Are they not mine? O moorlands wide
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Now and then a friend and some sauterne
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To F. C
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Without it, marble-templed cities reaching
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With it, the air we breathe intoxicates
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Lo, song and sleep I love. For song's susurrus
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