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