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By-the-by ‘though come what may
And merely flew those words astray
Here and now ‘tis limp to I
While your fervour is sooner wry

Thou naïve still doted ream
So, birds quarrel about the stream
Thus, in fine rely to loathe
And defy no hint of betroth

Does a cherub speak ones name
Aside the courter but in vain
Yes, me a bullion stone
To bare foible within your bone

Hush, this notion so inane
This ought not be in your pertain
Be it Sabbath for dim eyes
Then yearn for moonlight at sunrise