I WAS sitting in my study—
In my first the fire was ruddy,
And I watched it as I idly clasped my whole;
Though a sober man I ’m reckoned,
To my lips I raised my second,
For I never was addicted to the bowl.

I was waiting for my daughter,
And at last I went and sought her—
She has tresses like a golden aureole;
But she hastily retreated,
For her face was flushed and heated,
And her pretty curls were clustering round my whole.