The sailor heaves on Biscay's restless bay;
His breeks are tarry but his heart is kind;
The farmer grouses all the livelong day
Howe'er with untaxed oof his jeans are lined;
The shop-assistant works for paltry pay,
Though of all manners his are most refined;
But all of them can quaff the undefiled
Sweet air of heaven and gaze with thankful eyelid
On azure skies and feel the unfettered wind,
Or in the park on Sunday, in a high lid,