Wine, No. 19

With so sweet a promise given All my bosom burneth; Hope uplifts my heart to heaven, Yet the doubt returneth, Lest perchance that hope should be Crushed and shattered suddenly.

On one girl my fancy so, On one star, reposes; Her sweet lips with honey flow And the scent of roses: In her smile I laugh, and fire Fills me with her love's desire.

Love in measure over-much Strikes man's soul with anguish; Anxious love's too eager touch Makes man fret and languish: Thus in doubt and grief I pine; Pain more sure was none than mine.

Burning in love's fiery flood, Lo, my life is wasted! Such the fever of my blood That I scarce have tasted Mortal bread and wine, but sup Like a god love's nectar-cup.