Drinking Song (2)
My goblet’s golden lips are dry,
And as the rose doth pine
For dew, so doth for wine
My goblet’s golden cup;
Rain, O! rain, or it will die;
Rain, fill it up!
Arise and get thee wings to-night,
Ætna! and let run o’er
Thy wines, a hill no more,
But darkly frown
A cloud, where eagles dare not soar,
Dropping rain down.
[Donner, 1935]
