Vistnok er der sommer i det små, men kunsten er å nyte - og forstå...

Oh happy is that man an`blest !
Nae wonder that it pride him !
Whase  ain dear friend, I`d like you best,
Comes clinkin ` down beside me !
We`arm reposed on the sofa, in the summer,
She sweetly does compose me;
Which by degrees slips round her neck,
An`s loof upon her bosom, that day.
For a summer in that year ...

Was there a summer ?
So fare away
Time goes
Out of the lost days, what more?
I shall not look at much more...