A goblet in each opening flower.
Then to the lips the goblet press,
Whose rim contains forgetfulness.
The vine, the glorious vine, arose,
Unscathed by crime, unchanged by woes,
Exulting in her charms;
Waving her tendrils in the breeze,
And clasping the rough, rugged trees
In her encircling arms.
With clustering grapes upon her brow,