1918
What place can there be for a minstrel now
Against these ghastly times?
For one who would sing to a light guitar
His picaroonish rhymes?
While the pain and filth of war, and the waste
Go on, and we lack for bread?
O the Dark Fool is loose in the world —
And the Fool of Joy is dead!
Against these ghastly times?
For one who would sing to a light guitar
His picaroonish rhymes?
While the pain and filth of war, and the waste
Go on, and we lack for bread?
O the Dark Fool is loose in the world —
And the Fool of Joy is dead!
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