IV
’Tis now the season! Idlers all,
Epicurean philosophers,
Ye men of fashion cynical,
Of Levshin’s school ye followers,
Priams of country populations
And dames of fine organisations,
Spring summons you to her green bowers,
’Tis the warm time of labour, flowers;
The time for mystic strolls which late
Into the starry night extend.
Quick to the country let us wend
In vehicles surcharged with freight;
In coach or post-cart duly placed
Beyond the city-barriers haste.