Chapter IX

By the clear green Lake of Nemi
An old maple-tree doth grow;
Through its lofty leafy summit
The breezes sadly blow.

By the clear green Lake of Nemi
A young musician lies,
He hums a song, while many
Tears glisten in his eyes.

On the clear green Lake of Nemi
The waves so gently flow;
The maple and musician
Their own minds do not know.

By the clear green Lake of Nemi
Is the best inn of the land;
Praiseworthy macaroni,
And wine of famous brand.

The maple and musician
Are crazy both, I think;
Else they would go there yonder,
Grow sane by honest drink.