They had been fou for week thegether.”
None knew better than Burns how ephemeral are the joys of social drinking, and no one has ever produced such a chain of similitudes to describe their fleeting sweetness.
“But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the Borealis race
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Or like the snow-flakes in the river,
A moment white, then melts forever.”