My desk is heaped with niceties
From tropic lands divine;
But this is braver far than all,—
A flask of Chian wine!

Brim up my golden drinking-cup,
And reach a dish of fruit,
And then unlock my cabinet,
And hand me out my lute;

For when these luxuries have fed
And filled my brain with light,
I must compose a nuptial song
To suit my bridal night!