copyright, Kellscraft Studio, 1999
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WREATHE THE BOWL


     WREATHE the bowl
     With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;
     We'll take a flight
     Towards heav'n 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 wreathe the bowl
     With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;
     We'll take a flight
     Towards heav'n 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 wreathe the bowl,
     With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;
     We'll take a flight
     Towards heav'n 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'd sever,
     Make pleasure glide
     In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever!
     Then wreathe the bowl,
     With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us?
     We'll take a flight
     Towards heav'n to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us!

                       THOMAS MOORE



 
copyright, Kellscraft Studio, 1999
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