The vapours wrap the mountain-tops in shrouds—
(I left my mild cheroots at the hotel.)
Dotting the glassy surface of the stream,
(Oh, here's a cigarette—my mind's at ease,)
The boats move silently as in a dream—
(Confound it! where on earth are my fusees?)
Methinks in such a Paradise as this,
(Thank goodness, there 's a clodhopper in sight.)
To live were ecstasy, to die were bliss.
(Could you oblige me, Monsieur, with a light?)