Mandoline

The courtly serenaders,
  The beauteous listeners,
Sit idling 'neath the branches
  A balmy zephyr stirs.

It's Tircis and Aminta,
  Clitandre,—ever there!—
Damis, of melting sonnets
  To many a frosty fair.

Their trailing flowery dresses,
  Their fine beflowered coats,
Their elegance and lightness,
  And shadows blue,—all floats

And mingles,—circling, wreathing,
  In moonlight opaline,
While through the zephyr's harping
  Tinkles the mandoline.