Dropped art, dropped passion; knew you'd had enough;
The amorous Sapeur cozening a cook
Was all my lay of love.
"And court and street took up the strains in glee;
I sang to Cæsar, sang to prince and priest,
And in the palace of the Medici
Roared Le Petit Ebeniste."
Then clashed the cymbals, and the bugles blew,
Vague scents swarmed o'er the visionary stage;
A soft sweet shape arose. We looked and knew