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.