Classic Poem

In land afar 'neath Autumn skies
Some singing girl with love-lit eyes,
Pluck'd from the heavy hanging vine
The grapes that held this golden wine.

And I to-day, in after years,
Telling a truce to haunting fears,
Hold the warm beaker to my lips —
And kiss her blushing finger-tips.

Her happy laugh and careless song
This mellow tide has cherished long,
And drinking deep, methinks her voice
From out its depths bids me rejoice.

And what would soothe thy cares and mine
Sooner, O friend, than such rare wine,
Whose magic mirror holds in thrall
Maid, music, autumn skies, and all.