O summer days! the eloquence of thee
Do I still listen to the rhythms of her finger nails clanking against my chest?
Do I still move as densely as before?
One smile the more, one tear the less,
Scribbling the jokes that made you care less.
O summer days! the eloquence of thee,
is not more silver-tongued than she.
And I dance to what Lord Byron weeps,
So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.