The wild-briar dabbles his finger-tips 
In the wine till they are red ; 
Then over the hedge he climbs and slips, 
And kisses the wild rose on the lips 
Till blushing she bows her head. 

The wild-briar clambers from spray to spray, 
For an ardent wooer he ; 
But once he has won, he hastes away, 
Nor tears nor prayers avail to stay 
His fickle fancy free. 

The wild-briar riots the thicket through, 
Like a wanton, lusty faun ; 
He strings for the cedar berries blue. 
He vows to the alder homage true, 
He sighs to woo the dawn ! 

For the fire of love and the fire of youth 
Fill his veins with zest divine ; 
Till winter has seized him without ruth, 
And thickets are bare ; oh, then, in sooth, 
He longs for spring's glad wine !