Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/119

 As I lie, as I lie, The hours fold their wings beneath the sky; As you lean, as you lean, In that trance of perfect love and bliss serene.

O friends, your best years to the oar Like galley-slaves devoting, This is and shall be evermore The true sublime of boating! As I lie, as I lie, The hours fold their wings beneath the sky; As you lean, as you lean, In that trance of perfect love and bliss serene.

The water is cool and sweet and pure, The water is clear as crystal; And water's a noble liquid, sure;— But look at my pocket-pistol!

Tim Boyland gave it me, one of two The rogue brought back from Dublin; With a jar of the genuine stuff: hurroo! How deliciously it comes bubblin'!