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Archive for the ‘19th Century literature’ Category

So we’ll part by the fork yonder,

It was fun all the way,

But my poor heart grows fonder

For the hearth and no other way

 

My mom will have it, poor fellow:

Take fleet footed time by throat

And leave no room for sorrow

Of golden youth come to nought.

 

Tho’ we broke into banks diverse

A strange tremor cracks its whip:

To mix palsy with gel is perverse

I’d not let Mom over me weep.

benny

Original version:

SO, we’ll go no more a-roving

  So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

  And the moon be still as bright.

 

For the sword outwears its sheath,

  And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

  And love itself have rest.

 

Though the night was made for loving,

  And the day returns too soon,

Yet we’ll go no more a-roving

  By the light of the moon.

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La Peau-4.10
La Peau-4.11
La Peau-4.12

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La Peau-4.5
La Peau-4.6
La Peau-4.7

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