The Very Best Of Vineyards Is The

Muse Of The Many Twinkling Feet, Whose Charms Are Now Extending Up From Legs To Arms.

The Devil Hath Not, In All His Quiver's Choice, An Arrow For The Heart Like A Sweet Voice.

And Life 's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles Near The Brim.

In Secret We Met - In Silence I Grieve, That Thy Heart Could Forget, Thy Spirit Deceive. If I Should Meet Thee After Long Years, How Should I Greet Thee? - With Silence And Tears

And Mocha's Berry, From Arabia Pure, In Small Fine China Cups, Came In At Last. Gold Cups Of Filigree, Made To Secure The Hand From Burning, Underneath Them Place. Cloves, Cinnamon And Saffron, Too, Were Boiled Up With The Coffee, Which, I Think, They Spoiled.