You write to me, sweetest, with envy
Of "zephyrs" and "summerlike stars;"
You say women, horses, and men vie
In chorus of croups and catarrhs;
You picture me safe from the snarling
Of Winter's tyrannical sway.
This isn't, believe me, my darling,
The Mediterranean way.
You rave of the "shimmering light on
An ocean pellucidly fair."