Now Summer wanes;The Chill doth creepUpon Dionysus, In His dancers' sleep.Time may not cease;Life begins anew.Though 'twas ofPast Joy's Corpse thatOur Trees Grew.
Now Summer wanes;
ReplyDeleteThe Chill doth creep
Upon Dionysus,
In His dancers' sleep.
Time may not cease;
Life begins anew.
Though 'twas of
Past Joy's Corpse that
Our Trees Grew.