I: I wonder at secrets sometimes- Fickle-minded fellows that remain quiet awhile Till a soft word from fate undoes them And then they come away, scattered, nude, bare and plain.
Nowhere is quite as warm as yesterday When the old-school films were still live plays And the actors were in the bloom of their youth- And you and I were still children, singing summer songs
I know what a heartbreak is; It is not the actual destruction of a heart, But the loss of something that constitutes the beat; The rhythym is perturbed, the mind is shaken,
The lamb, a childhood consort, has lied to me She's sung songs that she cannot claim She's sung of blue rivers, of green leas Of bright suns and pleasant rain The lamb, she's told me stories
