Alfonso is a handsome bronze-hued lad
⁠Of subtly-changing and surprising parts;
His moods are storms that frighten and make glad,
⁠His eyes were made to capture women's hearts.

Down in the glory-hole Alfonso sings
⁠An olden song of wine and clinking glasses
And riotous rakes; magnificently flings
⁠Gay kisses to imaginary lasses.

Alfonso's voice of mellow music thrills
⁠Our swaying forms and steals our hearts with joy;
And, when he soars, his fine falsetto trills
⁠Are rarest notes of gold without alloy.

But O! Alfonso, wherefore do you sing
⁠Dream-songs of carefree men and ancient places?
Soon shall we be beset by clamouring
⁠Of hungry and importunate palefaces.