I understand that absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.

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.

Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees.... Are we not better and at home In dreamful Autumn, we who deem No harvest joy is worth a dream? A little while and night shall come, A little while, then, let us dream.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine.

I understand that absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.

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.