WHERE TO DRINK,


Where the dew is cool and sweet

In the dingles hiding,

And the brook, on fairy feet,

Through the meadows gliding,

There my brimming cup I fill

From the clear and sparkling rill.

Not for me the ruby wine

In the goblet, gleaming;

Death is in its hue divine,

Sorrow in its beaming;

But my brimming cup I fill

From the clear and sparkling, rill.

Not for me the drunkard's cup,

Want and woe it bringeth:

Bitter tears have filled it up,

Anguish from it springeth;

But my brimming cup I fill

From the clear and sparkling rill.