To die of—not an aching heart,
But—half a century of pleasure!
Well, well! I'm boring you, no doubt;
How these old memories will undo one—
I see you've let your weed go out;
That's wrong! Here, light yourself a new one!
CHARLES F. LUMMIS.
To die of—not an aching heart,
But—half a century of pleasure!
Well, well! I'm boring you, no doubt;
How these old memories will undo one—
I see you've let your weed go out;
That's wrong! Here, light yourself a new one!
CHARLES F. LUMMIS.