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.