A glass of thy reviving gold to me,
Whether or no my dreamy soul be sad,
Brings souvenirs of lovely Vienna, glad
In her eternal summer-time to be!

I hear, in joyous trills, resounding free,
The waltzes that the German fairies bade
The souls of Strauss and Lanner, music mad,
Compose, to set the brains of worlds aglee.

And in the Sperl, dreaming away the sweet
Of pleasant life, and finding it all praise,
Dead to the past and scorning Death's surprise,
I see in calm felicity complete
Some fair Hungarian Jewess on me gaze,
With the black glory of Hebraic eyes!