P'r'aps Wallingford and Wheatley:
Upon the winding Thames you gaze,
And, though the view's beyond all praise,
I'd rather much sit here and laze
Than scale the Hill at Streatley!
I sit and lounge here on the grass,
And watch the river-traffic pass;
I note a dimpled, fair young lass,
Who feathers low and neatly:
Her hands are brown, her eyes are grey,