Until your rococo hair is more assured today
Of
its distinction it drowses on your head
As
if it never brooded over a tidy childhood
And
hasn’t your wild hair fallen down
At
a New Year’s Eve dance more than once
And
didn’t it move all my fingers to wag
Like
tongues? Didn’t it drive at least one
Fool to
suicide? Your hair knows so much
About things it surely knows presence is better
Than absence for those who love excess
About things it surely knows presence is better
Than absence for those who love excess
O
now all this music tumbles madly about
Our
ears and you say can't you see how the last
Day
of May taunts our hearts and oppresses us
With
such effulgent faun-colored hair?
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