And I've thrown my brick-dust velvet about,
And the sage-green curtain untwined;
So haste, my darling, the sun to flout
In your rust-red robe enshrined.
"All night, as you may have heard,
I've toss'd in a fantaisie,
Whether to paint my dear little bird
As a 'Nocturne' or 'Symphony;'
But now I have pass'd my æsthetic word,
An 'arrangement' you are to be.