The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, , at sacred-texts.com
O You with the collar of blue,
My heart is longing for you.
Though to call you I am not free,
Wherefore not send to me?
O you with the girdle of blue,
Long, long do I think of you.
Though to seek you I am not free,
Wherefore not come to me?
Ah, random and pleasure-drawn,
To the View Tower you are gone;
And a day without your sight
Is like three months in its flight.