Ii

When the black grape bulged with the juice that burst Through its thick blue skin that was cracked with thirst, And the round gold pippins, the summer had nursed, In the yellowing leaves o' the orchards hung; When the reapers, their lips with whistling pursed, To their sun-tanned brows in the corn were immersed, A lightness came over the tongue, And one sung as much as one durst.