Poems (Duer)/A Drinking-Song
A DRINKING-SONG.
Drink, from the flowing measure, Health to the God of the golden Wine; Taste of the cup of pleasure Freely, while youth is thine. Thy weary brain from the dry champagne A merrier mood should borrow: The wise are sad, but the fools are gay, And the rose that we plucked but yesterday Will be faded and dead by to-morrow.
Drink, for the hours are flying; Youth is fleeting, but age is slow: Sorrows for which thou'rt sighing Melt from thy sight like snow. Thy weary brain from the dry champagne A merrier mood should borrow: The wise are sad, but the fools are gay, And the life that we lived but yesterday Is the death that we die to-morrow.
C. D.