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.