THE Til RUSH 



Now is the tale of August's wealth 



In golden glories told, 

 And all the laden vimyard glows 



With purple grapes and gold. 



From vat or winepr.ss duly filled 



With juices of the vine 

 There comes on every breeze that blows 



The drowsy scent of wine. 



With laughter lond and kisses long 



Through all the leafy way. 

 In alleys ol the clustering vine 



Do men and maidens stay. 



Illended with voices of the birds 

 Who steal the grapes and sing 



Their lond and joyous merriment 

 Makes all the vineyard ring. 



And lo ! the thrush who loudly sings 



On topmost wreath of vine 

 With juice of grape and joy of heart 



