Come, boy Bacchus, a bunch of grapes,
The bunch you dearest treasure !
'Twill fill my soul with exquisite shapes,
For well I know the pleasure
Of a rich ripe grape slow pressed in the mouth
Bringing me dreams of the lusty South,
Of sunbrown youth
And sun-bright maiden
And all a laughing,
And all a laden
with grapes, grapes, grapes, grapes,
beyond all measure !
And all a laughing
And all a laden
with grapes, grapes, grapes,
beyond all measure.