They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
More verses by Ernest Christopher Dowson
- A Song Of The Setting Sun
- Amor Profanus
- A Last Word
- Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae
- April Love