1645
The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
For is it not his Bed—
His Advocate—his Edifice?
How safe his fallen Head
In her disheveled Sanctity—
Above him is the sky—
Oblivion bending over him
And Honor leagues away.
3.9k
1645
The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
For is it not his Bed—
His Advocate—his Edifice?
How safe his fallen Head
In her disheveled Sanctity—
Above him is the sky—
Oblivion bending over him
And Honor leagues away.
1830 - 1886/Female/American