Tired of amusing proud society,
Grown fonder of my friends’ regard,
I would have wanted with due piety
To offer you a pledge, dear bard,
More worthy of your souls perfection,
Full of a holy reverie,
Of poetry and clear reflection,
Of high thoughts and simplicity;
But so be it - let your affection
Accept these chapters and their rhymes,
Half comic and half melancholic,
Ideal and down-to-earth bucolic,
The careless fruit of leisure times,
Of sleepless nights, light inspirations,
Of immature and withered years,
The intellects cold observations,
The hearts impressions marked in tears.