They are not long, the days of wine and roses.

They are not, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream, Our path emerges for a while, then closes, Within a dream

I understand that absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion.

And I was desolate and sick of an old passion.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.