Anacreontic Poem by Thomas Moore
Anacreontic
Rating: ★3.0
Press the grape, and let it pour
Around the board its purple shower:
And, while the drops my goblet steep,
I'll think in woe the clusters weep.
Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine!
Heaven grant no tears, but tears of wine.
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
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4/23/2024 7:23:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
quite a light write.. well, in vino veritas.. ;)