My muse has a marvellous wing,
And I willingly worship at dinner
The Sirens of Spring.
Take endive ... like love it is bitter;
Take beet ... for like love it is red:
Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter,
And cress from the rivulet’s bed:
Anchovies foam-born, like the Lady
Whose beauty has maddened this bard;
And olives from groves that are shady;