The wisest men are fools in wine,
Experience makes us think:
Its magic spells are so divine,
We reason—yet we drink!
How short's the longest life of man,
How soon its brightest laurels fade—
Then, as our life is but a span,
Let all its hours be joyous made.
Wine o'er the ardent restless mind
Entwines its poppy chain;
A solace, then, the wretched find.
In fictions of the brain.
Oh! as the charmed glass we sip,
We conquer care and pain:
It woos like woman's dewy lip,
To kiss—and come again!