True, I talk of dreams....
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the c***dren of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin as the substance of air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
Which are the c***dren of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin as the substance of air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
11 years ago