But from their silent lips no merry sentence
Disturbs the smoothness of their shining curls.
Ah! what will rise, how will they rally,
When shall arrive the “gentlemen of ease!”
What brilliant repartee, what witty sally,
Will mingle with their pleasant symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite sweet chorus,
The laugh of ecstacy, the merry tone,
That through the evenings that have gone before us
In long reverberations reach our own.