THE blockheads, their holidays keeping, Are walking through forest and plain; They shout, and like kittens are leaping, And hail sweet Nature again. They gaze, with glances that glisten, On each romantic thing; With ears like asses they listen To hear the sparrows sing. My chamber window to darken, With black cloth I hang it by day; To the signal my spirits straight hearken, Day-visits they hasten to pay. My olden love also draws nigh me, From the realms of the dead she appears; She, weeping, sits gently close by me, And softens my bosom to tears. |