Last Words

An arbour of flowers and a kettle of wine:
Alas! in the bowers no companion is mine.
Then the moon sheds her rays on my goblet and me,
And my shadow betrays we're a party of three!

Though the moon cannot swallow her share of the grog,
And my shadow must follow wherever I jog, —
Yet their friendship I'll borrow and gaily carouse,
And laugh away sorrow while spring-time allows.

See the moon, — how she glances response to my song;
See my shadow, — it dances so lightly along!
While sober I feel, you are both my good friends;
When drunken I reel, our companionship ends.
But we'll soon have a greeting without a goodbye.
At our next merry meeting away in the sky.