song.
29
Then wreathe again the goblet's brim
With pleasure's roseate crown!
What though the present hour be dim—
The future 's yet our own!
With pleasure's roseate crown!
What though the present hour be dim—
The future 's yet our own!
The moment is past, and the bright throng that round us
So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream;
And time has untwisted the fond links that bound us,
Like frost wreaths that melt in the morning's first beam.
Still wreathe once more the goblet's brim!
With pleasure's roseate crown!
What though all else beside be dim—
The past has been our own!
So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream;
And time has untwisted the fond links that bound us,
Like frost wreaths that melt in the morning's first beam.
Still wreathe once more the goblet's brim!
With pleasure's roseate crown!
What though all else beside be dim—
The past has been our own!
