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Alfonso is a handsome bronze-hued lad

Of subtly-changing and surprising parts;

His moods are storms that frighten and make glad,

His eyes were made to capture women's hearts.

Down in the glory-hole Alfonso sings

An olden song of wine and clinking glasses

And riotous rakes; magnificently flings

Gay kisses to imaginary lasses.

Alfonso's voice of mellow music thrills

Our swaying forms and steals our hearts with joy;

And when he soars, his fine falsetto trills

Are rarest notes of gold without alloy.

But, O Alfonso! wherefore do you sing

Dream-songs of carefree men and ancient places?

Soon we shall be beset by clamouring

Of hungry and importunate palefaces.