Comes night, and with her sable charms Enfolds the moments as they fly—Then lo! on cities and on farms Men cleave to what their hearts hold high To wield the pen, in books to spy, In palace grand or lonely cell To laugh, to dance, to sleep, to cry—But me, I loves my bicycle.
One soul a piece of horseflesh warms, Another craves -his oar to ply; A daring few believe no harm's In soaring upward to the sky. Let all men prate what mounts they try And rant of roads that please them well—My jingling muse will never deny I sorter loves my bicycle.
With fond escape from life's alarms Thou cheer'st an ofttimes lonely guy, When loving smiles and gentle arms Are good for nothing but a sigh. O shrive me when I come to die And I'll confess—nay, loudly tell While others cared for sundry fry T also loved—my bicycle.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.