Alfonso, Dressing To Wait At Table

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.