From a little violet wine at not too dear a fee, my love, I have deduced a whole philosophy. This wine, this sweet wine, unto sadness leads, and sadness in its turn to melancholy. and from there, my love, to blank forgetfulness. I forget the evenings 'neath the arbor's shade when the sweet wine filled my heart with glee since you were there and just for me. All the false, fair skies with hope's bright hue o'erlaid, ah! swiftly did they fade in our lifted glasses' shine, drunk with the wine they have fled! Far you have sped but forgetfulness is mine. The little violet wine to sadness leads and the sadness in its turn to melancholy. |