Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain, —
More fair, because impossible
That any gain.
The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little, —
And that ‘s the skies!
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad for life, mad for talking, mad for poetry.
Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain, —
More fair, because impossible
That any gain.
The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little, —
And that ‘s the skies!