The Park will fill without your aid;
And still at many a matron's dance
Moist man will whirl with panting maid.
Vast dinners still will be as slow,
The night will still be turned to day,
And all the giddy round will go
As wild and well with you away.
But here the days are passing fair,
The sun shines bright, the leaves are green;
Cool on your forehead breathes the air,