You that through all the dying summer

Came every morning to our breakfast table,

A lonely bachelor mummer,

And fed on the marmalade

So deeply, all your strength was scarcely able

To prise you from the sweet pit you had made,—

You and the earth have now grown older,

And your blue thoroughfares have felt a change;

They have grown colder;

And it is strange

How the familiar avenues of the air

Crumble now, crumble; the good air will not hold,

All cracked and perished with the cold;

And down you dive through nothing and through despair.