慵懒的珍妮，笑着懒洋洋的珍妮，喜欢一个吻，喜欢一个基尼，今晚她的头在我的膝盖上休息了一会儿，仿佛随着我们所有的舞蹈和疯狂的曲调把你旋转的声音变得轻盈起来:美丽的珍妮，我的，轻率的亲吻女王，中间的红晕几乎不能使她更可爱;她的眼睛如蓝天，她的头发是无数无与伦比的黄金:鲜花，很少有迹象表明爱的旺盛的温床;不，可怜的花，从昨天就被撕破了，直到明天你还光秃秃的;可怜的一把鲜亮的泉水被扔进了漩涡的尖叫中;可怜的，可耻的珍妮，充满了优雅，你的头就这样靠在我的膝上;谁的人或谁的钱包可能是你梦想的指路明灯?你的这间屋子，我的珍妮，看起来和我的完全不同，我的屋子里堆满了书，书的一排排牢牢地锁住了我的青春时光，他们从白天到黑夜偷来的时间，为了让一个人珍惜的工作恢复正常，却把它当作他们偷来的所有的错误，就像今晚我的工作被留下一样:直到我发誓，既然我的大脑和舞蹈的眼睛看起来如此脆弱，我的脚也应该跳舞;我就这样遇见了你。好吧，我想这很难分开，因为我在这里。现在，亲爱的，你看起来太累了，不想睡觉了。 It was a careless life I led When rooms like this were scarce so strange Not long ago. What breeds the change,? The many aims or the few years? Because to-night it all appears Something I do not know again. The cloud's not danced out of my brain? The cloud that made it turn and swim While hour by hour the books grew dim. Why, Jenny, as I watch you there,? For all your wealth of loosened hair, Your silk ungirdled and unlac'd And warm sweets open to the waist, All golden in the lamplight's gleam,? You know not what a book you seem, Half-read by lightning in a dream! How should you know, my Jenny? Nay, And I should be ashamed to say:? Poor beauty, so well worth a kiss! But while my thought runs on like this With wasteful whims more than enough, I wonder what you're thinking of. If of myself you think at all, What is the thought??conjectural On sorry matters best unsolved?? Or inly is each grace revolved To fit me with a lure??or (sad To think!) perhaps you're merely glad That I'm not drunk or ruffianly And let you rest upon my knee. For sometimes, were the truth confess'd, You're thankful for a little rest,? Glad from the crush to rest within, From the heart-sickness and the din Where envy's voice at virtue's pitch Mocks you because your gown is rich; And from the pale girl's dumb rebuke, Whose ill-clad grace and toil-worn look Proclaim the strength that keeps her weak, And other nights than yours bespeak; And from the wise unchildish elf, To schoolmate lesser than himself Pointing you out, what thing you are:? Yes, from the daily jeer and jar, From shame and shame's outbraving too, Is rest not sometimes sweet to you?? But most from the hatefulness of man, Who spares not to end what he began, Whose acts are ill and his speech ill, Who, having used you at his will, Thrusts you aside, as when I dine I serve the dishes and the wine. Well, handsome Jenny mine, sit up: I've filled our glasses, let us sup, And do not let me think of you, Lest shame of yours suffice for two. What, still so tired? Well, well then, keep Your head there, so you do not sleep; But that the weariness may pass And leave you merry, take this glass. Ah! lazy lily hand, more bless'd If ne'er in rings it had been dress'd Nor ever by a glove conceal'd! Behold the lilies of the field, They toil not neither do they spin; (So doth the ancient text begin,? Not of such rest as one of these Can share.) Another rest and ease Along each summer-sated path From its new lord the garden hath, Than that whose spring in blessings ran Which praised the bounteous husbandman, Ere yet, in days of hankering breath, The lilies sickened unto death. What, Jenny, are your lilies dead? Aye, and the snow-white leaves are spread Like winter on the garden-bed. But you had roses left in May,? They were not gone too. Jenny, nay, But must your roses die, and those Their purfled buds that should unclose? Even so; the leaves are curled apart, Still red as from the broken heart, And here's the naked stem of thorns. Nay, nay, mere words. Here nothing warns As yet of winter. Sickness here Or want alone could waken fear,? Nothing but passion wrings a tear. Except when there may rise unsought Haply at times a passing thought Of the old days which seem to be Much older than any history That is written in any book; When she