Wine, No. 6

Spring is coming! longed-for spring Now his joy discloses; On his fair brow in a ring Bloom empurpled roses! Birds are gay; how sweet their lay! Tuneful is the measure; The wild wood grows green again, Songsters change our winter's pain To a mirthful pleasure.

Now let young men gather flowers, On their foreheads bind them, Maidens pluck them from the bowers, Then, when they have twined them, Breathe perfume from bud and bloom, Where young love reposes, And into the meadows so All together laughing go, Crowned with ruddy roses.