Sparkling and bright in liquid light, Does the wine our goblets gleam in, With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in. Then fill to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker’s brim, And break on the lips while meeting. Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight Of Time through Life’s dominions, We here a while would now beguile The graybeard of his pinions, To drink to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker’s brim, And break on the lips while meeting. But since Delight can’t tempt the wight, Nor fond Regret delay him, Nor Love himself can hold the elf, Nor sober Friendship stay him, We ’ll drink to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker’s brim, And break on the lips while meeting.
Sparkling and Bright
More from Poet
|
[Mexico, September 19, 1846] WE were not many,—we who stood Before the iron sleet that day; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could Have been with us at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier... |
Sparkling and bright in liquid light, Does the wine our goblets gleam in, With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in. Then fill to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker’s brim, And break on the lips... |
’t is said that the gods on Olympus of old (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?) One night, ’mid their revels, by Bacchus were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid In... |
We were not many—we who stood Before the iron sleet that day— Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if he then could Have been with us at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades... |
|
Sparkling and bright in liquid light, Does the wine our goblets gleam in, With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in. Then fill to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker’s brim, And break on the lips... |