We’ll drown the dark dream, while a care is remaining;
And though the sad tear may embitter the wine,
Drink half, never fear, the remainder is mine.
True, others may drink in the lightness of soul,
But the pleasure I think is the tear in the bowl;
Then fill up the bowl with the roseate wine,
And the tears of my soul shall there mingle with thine.
And that being done, we will quaff it, my brother;
Who drinks of the one should partake of the other.
Thy head is now gray, and I follow with pain.—