flâneur

The Notebooks of Scott Fitzgerald (J: Jingles and Songs).

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Lolling down on the edge of time Where the flower months fade as the days move over, Days that are long like lazy rhyme, Nights that are pale with the moon and the clover, Summer there is a dream of summer Rich with dusks for a lover’s food— Who is the harlequin, who is the mummer, You or time or the multitude? Still does your hair’s gold light the ground And dazzle the blind ’till their old ghosts rise; Then, all you cared to find being found, Are you yet kind to their hungry eyes? Part of a song, a remembered glory— Say there’s one rose that lives and might Whisper the fragments of our story: Kisses, a lazy street—and night. I. Where did we store the summer of our love Come here and help me find it Search as I may there is no trove Only a dusty last year’s calendar. Without your breath in my ear Your light in my eye to blind it I cannot see in the dark. Oh tender Was your touch in Spring, your barefoot voice— In August we should find graver music and rejoice. II. A long Provence of

The Notebooks of Scott Fitzgerald (J: Jingles and Songs). The Notebooks of F. Scott Fitzgerald (J) Jingles and Songs 849 ONE SOUTHERN GIRL Lolling down on the edge of time Where the flower months fade as the days move over, Days that are long like lazy rhyme, Nights that are pale with the moon and the clover, Summer there is a dream of summer Rich with dusks for a lover’s food— Who is the harlequin, who is the mummer, You or time or the multitude? Still does your hair’s gold light the ground And dazzle the blind ’till their old ghosts rise; Then, all you cared to find being found, Are you yet

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