That’s why I like a woman wearing furs.
EXCUSE ME, MUSE
’Tis not the hour to sing of pink-hued vapors
So softly sailing under azure skies;
Nor of the shadow warm and so mysterious
Cast by the lashes of a woman’s eyes.
’Tis not the time for soft euphonious sighing
And holding converse with pale lunar light.
’Tis not the hour for musing and for dreaming,
Excuse me, Muse, I must go out and fight.