tumult of bows and strings. And the rose is laughing.
It is a breezy day's debut into the bloom of spring,
highlit like a bride's outfit in pearls and gold.
The revels of night become day-drinks. Frivolity keeps
[the cup] going round in the same order, whether
willed [by the drinker]
or pressed upon him. Were we heated! I swear, it was
the sun's own beams that poured from our cup and
The people were a brotherhood of truth. The tie uniting
them was a love surpassing kinship by descent.
Nursed together on the squirting stream of a pale pink
[quantity of wine], each gave his fellow nursling
and the drunken man's offense was not held against him.
No doubt about their character need trouble you.
The best teachers are the days themselves, and time's
long periods, and those
moments when defects of fortune are overturned.