While wine-cups circle in wood-lit hall,
And wit flashes on through the night.
What flowers can vie with the charms we view
Around us then? Love's rosiest hue
To woman's cheek is given.
No shower is like the tear of the grape,
In its rainbow Joy has his happiest shape,
And each tint is direct from heaven.
If mists veil the earth, and if storms arise,
And darkness broods gloomily over the skies,