She gave in later hours,
On a parting lovers lip,
Her kiss like cinnamon,
And tears of mother’s milk.
What have men to do,
Drunk and in her manner?
Where was I to go,
Beside her childish candor?
She gave in later hours,
On a parting lovers lip,
Her kiss like cinnamon,
And tears of mother’s milk.
What have men to do,
Drunk and in her manner?
Where was I to go,
Beside her childish candor?