Careless rhymer, it is true,
That my favourite colour's blue:
But am I
To be made a victim, sir,
If to puddings I prefer
Cambridge [pi]?

If with giddier girls I play
Croquet through the summer day
On the turf,
Then at night ('tis no great boon)
Let me study how the moon
Sways the surf.

Tennyson's idyllic verse
Surely suits me none the worse
If I seek
Old Sicilian birds and bees,
Music of sweet Sophocles,
Golden Greek.

You have said my eyes are blue;
There may be a fairer hue,
Perhaps, and yet
It is surely not a sin
If I keep my secrets in
Violet.