For what does one hear while warm as a king but the melody of the coming spring...
I hear this grand song from the lips of my Love: Forever you’re mine, you are enough
There are some rather odd and ridiculous sayings that come to mind under the influence of such mischievous quiddities as whiskey and autumntime.
It's beautiful, isn't it?//This garden of hardy weeds//This muted symphony//This incorrigible springtime
But now I’m here, sipping the dew//Ambrosia-drink and treacle-stew//Buried in my eminent dole//All I ask is if you pass through//Share the strangest piece of you