When we clad our men of pine in

Every phase of human action,

Sang to them the old “attraction,”

“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een”!

Through my hazing, half-closed lashes

As I watch the steady blazing

Of my fangled oil-stove, plashes

Of that olden rhythm come lazing

From the lethy mists, and shine in

Irised splendors where the tilting