Love

Tell me where is Fancy bred, 
Or in the heart or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 
   Reply, reply. 
It is engender’d in the eyes, 
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 
   Let us all ring Fancy’s knell: 
   I’ll begin it,–Ding, dong, bell. 
All. Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

This entry was posted on Friday, September 22nd, 2017 at 10:26 am. Both comments and pings are currently closed.