And the merry linnet's glees,

As the west wind's symphonies

Through the pines are dancing!

See the hot air rise and quiver,

In the meadow by the river

Truant-like advancing!

Let us to the woodlands hie,

Where the breezes rustle by

And the moss is crisp and dry,

And the shade is plenty;

There we 'll talk of other days

Spent like this in giving praise

To Dolce far Niente.