With her Majesty’s footmen in crimson and gold.
I’d care not a pin for a waiting-lord;
But I’d lie on my back on the smooth greensward,
With a straw in my mouth, and an open vest,
And the cool wind blowing upon my breast,
And I’d vacantly stare at the clear blue sky,
And watch the clouds that are listless as I,
Lazily, lazily!
And I’d pick the moss and the daisies white,
And chew their stalks with a nibbling bite;