Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up

What Joy Have I In June's Return? My Feet Are Parched-my Eyeballs Burn, I Scent No Flowery Gust; But Faint The Flagging Zephyr Springs, With Dry Macadam On Its Wings, And Turns Me 'dust To Dust.'

I Remember, I Remember, The House Where I Was Born, The Little Window Where The Sun Came Peeping In At Morn.

Some Sigh For This And That; My Wishes Don't Go Far; The World May Wag At Will, So I Have My Cigar.

So Mayst Thou Live, Dear! Many Years, In All The Bliss That Life Endears

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.