Wreath the bowl

  With flowers of soul,

The brightest wit can find us;

  We'll take a flight

  Towards heaven to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us.

  Should Love amid

  The wreaths be hid,

That joy, the enchanter, brings us,

  No danger fear,

  While wine is near,

We'll drown him if he stings us,

  Then, wreath the bowl

  With flowers of soul,

The brightest wit can find us;

  We'll take a flight

  Towards heaven to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us.

  'Twas nectar fed

  Of old, 'tis said,

Their Junos, Joves, Apollos;

  And man may brew

  His nectar too,

The rich receipt's as follows:

  Take wine like this,

  Let looks of bliss

Around it well be blended,

  Then bring wit's beam

  To warm the stream,

And there's your nectar, splendid!

  So wreath the bowl

  With flowers of soul,

The brightest wit can find us;

  We'll take a flight

  Towards heaven to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us.

  Say, why did Time

  His glass sublime

Fill up with sands unsightly,

  When wine, he knew,

  Runs brisker through,

And sparkles far more brightly?

  Oh, lend it us,

  And, smiling thus,

The glass in two we'll sever,

  Make pleasure glide

  In double tide,

And fill both ends for ever!

  Then wreath the bowl

  With flowers of soul

The brightest wit can find us;

  We'll take a flight

  Towards heaven to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us.