Hear her satin train still rustling,
And my soldier's heart is beating
As if in the thick of battle.
Like the smoke from the big cannons
Came the smoke out of my clay-pipe;
And 'twas well so. On the same cloud
Which I puffed there in the presence
Of the proud one, sat god Cupid,
Gaily shooting off his arrows,
And he knew well how to hit right.