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The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908], at

p. 39


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.

Next: A Friend Forgotten