She fell at last;
In such a jocund company!
"Have done with sorrow;
Beside the brook, along the glen,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
Why the taboret?
And life is too much like a pathless wood
One whistled like a bird.
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
I have no silver either,
She fell at last;
In such a jocund company!
"Have done with sorrow;
Beside the brook, along the glen,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
Why the taboret?
And life is too much like a pathless wood
One whistled like a bird.
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
I have no silver either,