Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bowers
To Arno's myrtle border.
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What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles?
How do ye vary your vile days and nights?
How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles
In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites,
And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
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RGB: 53 181 82
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RGB: 53 181 82
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RGB: 253 182 46
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RGB: 253 253 253
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RGB: 253 253 253
Princess of rivers, how I love
Upon thy flowery banks to lie,
And view thy silver stream,
When gilded by a summer's beam!
And in it all thy wanton fry,
Playing at liberty;
And with my angle, upon them
The all of treachery
I ever learned, industriously to try!
