Pleasure



    But pleasures are like poppies spread,
  You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white--then melts forever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.

-Robert Burns,
Tam O'Shanter: A Tale, 1791







images © 1998 by Randy Wang
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