52
POEMS.
A DRINKING-SONG.
Drink, from the flowing measure,
Health to the God of the golden Wine;
Taste of the cup of pleasure
Freely, while youth is thine.
Thy weary brain from the dry champagne
A merrier mood should borrow:
The wise are sad, but the fools are gay,
And the rose that we plucked but yesterday
Will be faded and dead by to-morrow.
Health to the God of the golden Wine;
Taste of the cup of pleasure
Freely, while youth is thine.
Thy weary brain from the dry champagne
A merrier mood should borrow:
The wise are sad, but the fools are gay,
And the rose that we plucked but yesterday
Will be faded and dead by to-morrow.
Drink, for the hours are flying;
Youth is fleeting, but age is slow:
Sorrows for which thou'rt sighing
Melt from thy sight like snow.
Thy weary brain from the dry champagne
A merrier mood should borrow:
The wise are sad, but the fools are gay,
And the life that we lived but yesterday
Is the death that we die to-morrow.
Youth is fleeting, but age is slow:
Sorrows for which thou'rt sighing
Melt from thy sight like snow.
Thy weary brain from the dry champagne
A merrier mood should borrow:
The wise are sad, but the fools are gay,
And the life that we lived but yesterday
Is the death that we die to-morrow.
C. D.
