Dedication1
Tired of amusing proud society,
Grown fonder of my friends’ regard,
I would have wanted with due piety
To offer you a pledge, dear bard,
More worthy of your soul’s perfection,
Full of a holy reverie,
Of poetry and clear reflection,
Of high thoughts and simplicity;
But so be it – let your affection
Accept these chapters and their rhymes,
Half-comic and half-melancholic,
Ideal and down-to-earth bucolic,
The careless fruit of leisure times,
Of sleepless nights, light inspirations,
Of immature and withered years,
The intellect’s cold observations,
The heart’s impressions marked in tears.