by Ernest Dowson
THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for awhile, then closes
Within a dream.
Frances sent this poem to Caroline and Stephen in 2013.
She wrote “It is a sad poem written by a man who died of Alcoholism,
but how sad would it be for those who have never experienced the days of Wine and Roses?”
She wrote “It is a sad poem written by a man who died of Alcoholism,
but how sad would it be for those who have never experienced the days of Wine and Roses?”