The bird that fills my ears with song, The Sun that warms me with his fire; The dog that licks my face and hands, And She whose beauty I desire — Each of these think that he or she Creates in me the joy they see. But when my dog's gone off with a bitch, And there's no Sun, nor bird in song; When Love's false eyes seek other men, And leave me but her lying tongue; Still will my Joy — though forced to roam — Remember me and come back home. |