Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/395

Rh True love that never dies! Bowers on bowers rise, Soft tendrils twine; While from the press escapes, Born of the juicy grapes, Foaming, the wine; And as the current flows O'er the bright stones it goes,— Leaving the hilly lands Far, far behind,— Into a sea expands, Loving to wind Bound the green mountain's base; And the glad-wingèd race, Rapture sip in, As they the sunny light And the fair islands bright, Hasten to win, That on the billows play With sweet deceptive ray, Where in glad choral song Shout the exulting throng; Where on the verdant plain Dancers we see, Spreading themselves amain Over the lea. Some boldly climbing are O'er the steep brake, Others are floating far O'er the smooth lake. All for a purpose move, All with life teem, While the sweet stars above Blissfully gleam.