English poem
ANACREONTIC.
by Thomas Moore
Press the grape, and let it pour Around the board its purple shower; And while the drops my goblet steep, I'll think—in WOE the clusters weep.
Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine! Heaven grant no tears but tears of wine. Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow, I'll taste the LUXURY OF WOE!