Good-bye to the Season, its crosses,
Its care, and caress, its cabal,—
Let us drown both its gain and its losses
In Styx, or the Suez Canal!
Though pleasure be near, or too far be,
We’ve kept it up early and late,
From the dust and the din of the Derby
To the Fair at the Kensington Fête.
Let the desperate dog, or the dreamer
Dividing his lips with a weed,