To wed the olive and the oak,
Most patiently to woo the Muse,
And wear a great big Tuscan cloak
To guard against the heavy dews.

Between the olive and the vine
I'll make heroic mock of Mars,
And drink at even golden wine
Kept cool in terra-cotta jars;
And afterwards harangue the stars
In little gems of fervid speech,
And smoke impossible cigars
Which cost at least three _soldi_ each.

Let more ambitious spirits spin
The web of life for weal or woe,
Whilst I above my violin
Shall sit and watch the vale below
All crimson in the afterglow;
And when the patient stars grow bright
I'll draw across the strings my bow
Till Chopin ushers in the night.

Such things as these I mean to do
When Peace once more resumes her sway;
To walk barefooted through the dew
And while the sunlit hours away,
If haply I may find some gay
Conceit to light a sombre mind,
As gracious as a Summer day,