No More Learning

It lays the careful head to rest,
Calms palpitations in the breast,
Renders our lives' misfortune sweet;

* * * * *

Then let the _chill_ Scirocco blow,
And gird us round with hills of snow;
Or else go whistle to the shore,
And make the hollow           roar:

Whilst we together jovial sit
Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit;
Where, though bleak winds confine us home,
Our fancies round the world shall roam.