She who should walk doth weakly recline
By the window whose view overlooks the Bay;
While I and the "clusters" dance in the sun,
Defying the breeze coming in from the sea,
Mocking the bird-song and chasing the bee,
Letting our fullness of mirth over-run,
While the "Vine" at the window smiles down on our glee.
If I should vow that these "clusters" are fair,
So, you would say, are a million more;
Ah, even jewels a rank must share—