Sicilian Wine

I’ve drunk Sicilia’s crimson wine!

The blazing vintage pressed

From grapes on Etna’s breast,

What time the mellowing autumn sun did shine:

I‘ve drunk the wine!

I feel its blood divine

Poured on the sluggish tide of mine,

Till, kindling slow, Its fountains glow

With the light that swims

On their trembling brims,

And a molten sunrise floods my limbs!

Divine Apollo!

Then thou thy lute shalt twine

With Bacchic tendrils of the glorious vine

That gave Sicilian wine:

And henceforth when the breezes run

Over its clusters, ripening in the sun,

The leaves shall still be playing,

Unto thy lute its melody repaying,

And I, that quaff, shall evermore be free

To mount thy car and ride the heavens with thee!