When the hounds of spring are on winter’s traces,
The mother of months in meadow or plain
Fills the shadows and windy places
With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;
– Swinburne
Don’t chase me now, I’m lost
I cannot be found, I’m gone
I’m fading out, I’m lost
I cannot be found, I’m gone
– Jahan & Yasmine Yousaf 93 93/93
