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Poems of Goethe

YE'VE often, for our drunkenness,

Blamed us in ev'ry way,
And, in abuse of drunkenness,

Enough can never say.
Men, overcome by drunkenness,

Are wont to lie till day;
And yet I find my drunkenness

All night-time make me stray;
For, oh! 'tis Love's sweet drunkenness

That maketh me its prey,
Which night and day, and day and night,

My heart must needs obey,--
A heart that, in its drunkenness,

Pours forth full many a lay,
So that no trifling drunkenness

Can dare assert its sway.
Love, song, and wine's sweet drunkenness,

By night-time and by day,--
How god-like is the drunkenness

That maketh me its prey!

                                1815.