 | Poems and Translations |  |
30
ROSY WINE.
My Mistress' frowns are hard to bear,
And yet I will not quite despair;
Nor think, because her lips I leave,
There's nothing for me but to grieve.
—The goblet's lip awaiteth mine:
My grief I quench in rosy wine.
And yet I will not quite despair;
Nor think, because her lips I leave,
There's nothing for me but to grieve.
—The goblet's lip awaiteth mine:
My grief I quench in rosy wine.
Dame Fortune too has faithless gone:
But let her go! I will not moan.
Draw in your chair, old Friend! and see
What rating Fortune has from me.
Clink yet again your glass with mine,—
To Fortune's health, in rosy wine!
But let her go! I will not moan.
Draw in your chair, old Friend! and see
What rating Fortune has from me.
Clink yet again your glass with mine,—
To Fortune's health, in rosy wine!
Pass, Fortune! pass, thou fickle jade!
One fortunately constant maid
Smiles on me yet; though loves depart,
Her presence gladdeneth my heart.
Thy tendrils cling, O loving Vine!
My griefs I quench in rosy wine.
One fortunately constant maid
Smiles on me yet; though loves depart,
Her presence gladdeneth my heart.
Thy tendrils cling, O loving Vine!
My griefs I quench in rosy wine.
| Poems and Translations | |