Again, from the goblet, your presence
sparkling fills my heart with care--
you with your smiling innocence
and your serpentine waves of hair.
Swept off my feet in the dark stream
I again live through
a passionate forgotten dream
of kisses, of snowstorms masking you.
Your laugh your magical laughter
and in the golden goblet sway,
and lightly over your sable hair
the current of the blue wind play.
And how, looking into the liquor,
could I miss my Bacchic wreath?
and fail to remember your kisses
my face upturned to meet mouth your mouth?
29 December 1906