Diapason
With the spit, the sleeping tongue;
With the cloud, the solemn rain;
Thru the autumn, fallen trees;
In anxious wait, love’s brightest ring.
While we pine, the gong is rung;
Beside the belle is caught the plain;
As sun is done, the moon decrees;
And time of death, its living sting!
--Dumas fils, 1980
With the cloud, the solemn rain;
Thru the autumn, fallen trees;
In anxious wait, love’s brightest ring.
While we pine, the gong is rung;
Beside the belle is caught the plain;
As sun is done, the moon decrees;
And time of death, its living sting!
--Dumas fils, 1980