Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/395

True love that never dies!
Bowers on bowers rise,
⁠Soft tendrils twine;
While from the press escapes,
Born of the juicy grapes,
⁠Foaming, the wine;
And as the current flows
O'er the bright stones it goes,—
Leaving the hilly lands
⁠Far, far behind,—
Into a sea expands,
⁠Loving to wind
Bound the green mountain's base;
And the glad-wingèd race,
⁠Rapture sip in,
As they the sunny light
And the fair islands bright,
⁠Hasten to win,
That on the billows play
With sweet deceptive ray,
Where in glad choral song
Shout the exulting throng;
Where on the verdant plain
⁠Dancers we see,
Spreading themselves amain
⁠Over the lea.
Some boldly climbing are
⁠O'er the steep brake,
Others are floating far
⁠O'er the smooth lake.
All for a purpose move,
⁠All with life teem,
While the sweet stars above
⁠Blissfully gleam.