As a suit of gilt apparel;
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
When you drink your wine, in autumn.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
But superstition, like belief, must die,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
What may be more than my flesh.
Your back was bent with untold care;
As a suit of gilt apparel;
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
When you drink your wine, in autumn.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
But superstition, like belief, must die,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
What may be more than my flesh.
Your back was bent with untold care;