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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.
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.
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!
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!
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.
She takes a look and says: “Nay, nay!”
And while I’m beating for the trolley
I would not, if I could, be gay.
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