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DOLCE FAR NIENTE.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

HEAR the droning of the bees

And the merry linnet's glees,

As the west wind's symphonies

Through the pines are dancing!

See the hot air rise and quiver,

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In the meadow by the river

Truant-like advancing!

Let us to the woodlands hie,

Where the breezes rustle by

And the moss is crisp and dry,

And the shade is plenty;

There we 'll talk of other days

Spent like this in giving praise

To Dolce far Niente.

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