They Are Not Long, The Days Of

Last Night, Ah, Yesternight, Betwixt Her Lips And Mine There Fell Thy Shadow, Cynara! Thy Breath Was Shed Upon My Soul Between The Kisses And The Wine; And I Was Desolate And Sick Of An Old Passion, Yea, I Was Desolate And Bowed My Head: I Have Been Faithful To Thee, Cynara! In My Fashion.

I Cried For Madder Music And For Stronger Wine, But When The Feast Is Finished And The Lamps Expire, Then Falls Thy Shadow, Cynara! The Night Is Thine.

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.

They Are Not Long, The Days Of Wine And Roses.