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47

XXI

Quick, bring some wine; for as when ebbs the tide,
Just like the river's bed are now our souls,
Sordid and muddy, till inspiring bowls,
Like the returning waves, from side to side,
Spread the full, sparkling flow of pleasure wide;
See, see, how brightly in the tinging stream,
My pale cheeks flush and glow, my dull eyes beam,
And in that glass alone I gaze with pride.
Foolish Narcissus, o'er the fountain blue
To pore, and nurse such fancies in thy breast;
I ever shun'd the beverage cold, nor drew
Weak watery pictures to disturb my rest;
Still in the wine cup, to its promise true,
I've found myself, and always thus been blest.