Many the strings to my amorous bow,
More than a little inclined to fly
Butterfly lovering, to and fro;
Happy wherever the flowers blow,
With the dew on the leaf, and the sunshine above,
Terribly wrong and unprincipled? No,
Life is too short to be “dead in love!”
Not for me is the lover’s sigh;
Fools are they to be worrying so!
Sipping my fill of the honey I fly