EDWARD FITZGERALD

And there I sit

Reading old things, Of knights and lorn damsels,

While the wind sings O, drearily sings !

I never look out

Nor attend to the blast; For all to be seen

Is the leaves falling fast : Falling, falling !

But close at the hearth,

Like a cricket, sit I, Reading of summer

And chivalry Gallant chivalry !

Then with an old friend I talk of our youth

How 'twas gladsome, but often Foolish, forsooth :

But gladsome, gladsome !

Or, to get merry,

We sing some old rhyme That made the wood ring again

In summer time Sweet summer time!

��Then go we smoking,

Silent and snug : Naught passes between us,

Save a brown jug Sometimes !

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