Wine, No. 42

Oh, of love twin-brother anguish! In thy pangs I faint and languish, Cannot find relief from thee! Nay, no marvel! I must grieve her, Wander forth in exile, leave her, Who hath gained the heart of me; Who of loveliness so rare is That for her sake Trojan Paris Would have left his Helene.

Smile, thou valley, sweetest, fairest, Wreathed with roses of the rarest, Flower of all the vales that be! Vale of vales, all vales excelling, Sun and moon thy praise are telling, With the song-birds' melody; Nightingales thy praise are singing, O thou soothing solace-bringing To the soul's despondency!