MANDOLINE,
Reading edition
THE singers of serenades Whisper their faded vows Unto fair listening maids Under the singing boughs.
Tircis, Aminte, are there, Clitandre is over-long, And Damis for many a fair Tyrant makes many a song.
Their short vests, silken and bright, Their long pale silken trains, Their elegance of delight, Twine soft blue silken chains.
And the mandolines and they, Faintlier breathing, swoon Into the rose and grey Ecstasy of the moon.