UNBROKEN.
I.At a quaint shop, wherein were soldAll curious objects rare and old,—Books, carvings, porcelain and plateOf fashion odd and out of date—I found this china drinking cup,And, for a trifle, picked it up.II.See, ’tis a wine cask, wreathed aboutWith broad, green vineyard leaves without,Round which a ring of peasants danceWith vigor more than elegance,While laughter, loud and long, is seenBreaking their parted lips between.III.Maddest of all the merry groupWhich thus encircles stave and hoop,The farmer in his cap and blouseRoars a right jovial vintage rouse,Nor heeds—so drowned in wine is he—How Jean with Julie’s cheek makes free.IV.Midway around the leafy caskHis goodwife’s face, like some old maskOf Laughter, glows beneath the vineThe while she foots it, warm with wineAnd, like her frolic comrades, bentOn festal mirth and merriment.V.Standing upon my mantel there,No blood of grape, or dark or fair,Exhales its balmy breath for me;And, save a carven rosaryFrom some spoiled convent, three or fourOdd trinkets are its only store.VI.Yet, on their swift unending round—Without a motion or a sound—These noisy peasants will keep upTheir revels round my drinking cup,Until, by some uncareful maid,In fragments on the floor they’re laid.Charles H. Lüders.
I.At a quaint shop, wherein were soldAll curious objects rare and old,—Books, carvings, porcelain and plateOf fashion odd and out of date—I found this china drinking cup,And, for a trifle, picked it up.II.See, ’tis a wine cask, wreathed aboutWith broad, green vineyard leaves without,Round which a ring of peasants danceWith vigor more than elegance,While laughter, loud and long, is seenBreaking their parted lips between.III.Maddest of all the merry groupWhich thus encircles stave and hoop,The farmer in his cap and blouseRoars a right jovial vintage rouse,Nor heeds—so drowned in wine is he—How Jean with Julie’s cheek makes free.IV.Midway around the leafy caskHis goodwife’s face, like some old maskOf Laughter, glows beneath the vineThe while she foots it, warm with wineAnd, like her frolic comrades, bentOn festal mirth and merriment.V.Standing upon my mantel there,No blood of grape, or dark or fair,Exhales its balmy breath for me;And, save a carven rosaryFrom some spoiled convent, three or fourOdd trinkets are its only store.VI.Yet, on their swift unending round—Without a motion or a sound—These noisy peasants will keep upTheir revels round my drinking cup,Until, by some uncareful maid,In fragments on the floor they’re laid.Charles H. Lüders.
I.
I.
At a quaint shop, wherein were soldAll curious objects rare and old,—Books, carvings, porcelain and plateOf fashion odd and out of date—I found this china drinking cup,And, for a trifle, picked it up.
At a quaint shop, wherein were sold
All curious objects rare and old,—
Books, carvings, porcelain and plate
Of fashion odd and out of date—
I found this china drinking cup,
And, for a trifle, picked it up.
II.
II.
See, ’tis a wine cask, wreathed aboutWith broad, green vineyard leaves without,Round which a ring of peasants danceWith vigor more than elegance,While laughter, loud and long, is seenBreaking their parted lips between.
See, ’tis a wine cask, wreathed about
With broad, green vineyard leaves without,
Round which a ring of peasants dance
With vigor more than elegance,
While laughter, loud and long, is seen
Breaking their parted lips between.
III.
III.
Maddest of all the merry groupWhich thus encircles stave and hoop,The farmer in his cap and blouseRoars a right jovial vintage rouse,Nor heeds—so drowned in wine is he—How Jean with Julie’s cheek makes free.
Maddest of all the merry group
Which thus encircles stave and hoop,
The farmer in his cap and blouse
Roars a right jovial vintage rouse,
Nor heeds—so drowned in wine is he—
How Jean with Julie’s cheek makes free.
IV.
IV.
Midway around the leafy caskHis goodwife’s face, like some old maskOf Laughter, glows beneath the vineThe while she foots it, warm with wineAnd, like her frolic comrades, bentOn festal mirth and merriment.
Midway around the leafy cask
His goodwife’s face, like some old mask
Of Laughter, glows beneath the vine
The while she foots it, warm with wine
And, like her frolic comrades, bent
On festal mirth and merriment.
V.
V.
Standing upon my mantel there,No blood of grape, or dark or fair,Exhales its balmy breath for me;And, save a carven rosaryFrom some spoiled convent, three or fourOdd trinkets are its only store.
Standing upon my mantel there,
No blood of grape, or dark or fair,
Exhales its balmy breath for me;
And, save a carven rosary
From some spoiled convent, three or four
Odd trinkets are its only store.
VI.
VI.
Yet, on their swift unending round—Without a motion or a sound—These noisy peasants will keep upTheir revels round my drinking cup,Until, by some uncareful maid,In fragments on the floor they’re laid.
Yet, on their swift unending round—
Without a motion or a sound—
These noisy peasants will keep up
Their revels round my drinking cup,
Until, by some uncareful maid,
In fragments on the floor they’re laid.
Charles H. Lüders.
Charles H. Lüders.