Careless Rhymer, It Is True, That My Favourite Colour'S Blue: But Am I To Be Made A Victim, Sir, If To Puddings I Prefer Cambridge [Pi]? If With Giddier Girls I Play Croquet Through The Summer Day On The Turf, Then At Night ('Tis No Great Boon) Let Me Study How The Moon Sways The Surf. Tennyson'S Idyllic Verse Surely Suits Me None The Worse If I Seek Old Sicilian Birds And Bees, Music Of Sweet Sophocles, Golden Greek. You Have Said My Eyes Are Blue; There May Be A Fairer Hue, Perhaps, And Yet It Is Surely Not A Sin If I Keep My Secrets In Violet.