Wine, No. 22

Meadows bloom, in Winter's room Reign the Loves and Graces, With their gift of buds that lift Bright and laughing faces; 'Neath the ray of genial May, Shining, glowing, blushing, growing, They the joys of spring are showing In their manifold array.

Song-birds sweet the season greet, Tune their merry voices; Sound the ways with hymns of praise, Every lane rejoices. On the bough in greenwood now Flowers are springing, perfumes flinging, While young men and maids are clinging To the loves they scarce avow.

O'er the grass together pass Bands of lads love-laden: Row by row in bevies go Bride and blushing maiden. See with glee 'neath linden-tree, Where the dancing girls are glancing, How the matron is advancing! At her side her daughter see!

She's my own, for whom alone, If fate wills, I'll tarry; Young May-moon, or late or soon, 'Tis with her I'd marry! Now with sighs I watch her rise, She the purely loved, the surely Chosen, who my heart securely Turns from grief to Paradise.

In her sight with heaven's own light Like the gods I blossom; Care for nought till she be brought Yielding to my bosom. Thirst divine my soul doth pine To behold her and enfold her, With clasped arms alone to hold her In Love's holy hidden shrine.