When I Looked Up At My Love-Birds That Sunday Afternoon, There Was In Their Tiny Tune A Dying Fetch Like Broken Words, When I Looked Up At My Love-Birds That Sunday Afternoon. When He, Too, Scanned The Love-Birds On Entering There That Day, 'Twas As If He Had Nought To Say Of His Long Journey Citywards, When He, Too, Scanned The Love-Birds, On Entering There That Day. And Billed And Billed The Love-Birds, As 'Twere In Fond Despair At The Stress Of Silence Where Had Once Been Tones In Tenor Thirds, And Billed And Billed The Love-Birds As 'Twere In Fond Despair. O, His Speech That Chilled The Love-Birds, And Smote Like Death On Me, As I Learnt What Was To Be, And Knew My Life Was Broke In Sherds! O, His Speech That Chilled The Love-Birds, And Smote Like Death On Me!