As we cheered to the new year,
That was supposed be the start of gear,
But Alas! we were embraced by an unwelcoming fear,
Fear of mingling, for not to shed tears,
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.