I’m sadly afraid,
For the glass is at sixty
Just now in the shade.
When wasps have all vanish’d
And bluebottles flown,
No fly can inhabit
This bleak world alone.
Punch’s Pocket Book, 1848.
The Last “Viva Voce.”
I’m sadly afraid,
For the glass is at sixty
Just now in the shade.
When wasps have all vanish’d
And bluebottles flown,
No fly can inhabit
This bleak world alone.
Punch’s Pocket Book, 1848.
The Last “Viva Voce.”