Whichever the reader prefers;
Or Night without either may do some,
Each one to his taste or to hers.
Four stars—to continue inditing,
So long as I feel in the vein—
Hullo! what the deuce is that biting?
Mosquitos again!
Oh glories not gilded but golden,
Oh daughters of Night unexcelled,
By the sons of the North unbeholden,