Wine

The setting sun shines low upon my door
Ere dusk enwraps the river fringed with spring;
Sweet perfumes rise from gardens by the shore,
And smoke, where crews their boats to anchor bring.
Now twittering birds are roosting in the bower.
And flying insects fill the air around...

O wine, who gave to thee thy subtle power? —
A thousand cares in one small goblet drowned!