The Wild Briar

The wild-briar dabbles his finger-tips

In the wine till they are red;

Then over the hedge he climbs and slips,

And kisses the wild rose on the lips

Till blushing she bows her head.

The wild-briar clambers from spray to spray,

For an ardent wooer he;

But once he has won, he hastes away,

Nor tears nor prayers avail to stay

His fickle fancy free.

The wild-briar riots the thicket through,

Like a wanton, lusty faun;

He strings for the cedar berries blue.

He vows to the alder homage true,

He sighs to woo the dawn!

For the fire of love and the fire of youth

Fill his veins with zest divine;

Till winter has seized him without ruth,

And thickets are bare; oh, then, in sooth,

He longs for spring's glad wine!