When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do!
The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.
The air of summer was sweeter than wine.
This song of mine Is a song of the vine To be sung by the glowing embers Of wayside inns, When the rain begins To darken the drear Novembers. and For the richest and best Is the wind of the West That grows by the Beautiful River; Whose sweet perfume Fills all the room With a bension on the giver. and When you ask one friend to dine, Give hime your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do.
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