In Other Words/After Samuel Rogers
After Samuel Rogers
Go! you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away.There’s such a charm in melancholy I would not, if I could, be gay.
For me the month is never May. Fate hurls at me a daily volley.The nights are black, the noons are gray— Go! you may call it madness, folly.
Go, frivolers, to your fi-nale! Go, butterflies, go on and play!You make no hit with me. By golly, You shall not chase my gloom away!
Alas! the heavy price we pay For Life her mistletoe and holly!The shadow’s longer than the ray. There’s such a charm in melancholy!
Each time I meet another dollie She takes a look and says: “Nay, nay!”And while I’m beating for the trolley I would not, if I could, be gay.
How simple is the metric jolly! Though meaningless as shredded hay,Though very rare the rhymes in olly, How smooth these rondeaux redoubléesGo!