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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=393359" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Punch Song (To be sung in the Northern Countries)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the mountain's breezy summit,<br> Where the southern sunbeams shine,<br>Aided by their warming vigor,<br> Nature yields the golden wine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How the wondrous mother formeth,<br> None have ever read aright;<br>Hid forever is her working,<br> And inscrutable her might.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sparkling as a son of Phoebus,<br> As the fiery source of light,<br>From the vat it bubbling springeth,<br> Purple, and as crystal bright;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And rejoiceth all the senses,<br> And in every sorrowing breast<br>Poureth hope's refreshing balsam,<br> And on life bestows new zest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But their slanting rays all feebly<br> On our zone the sunbeams shoot;<br>They can only tinge the foliage,<br> But they ripen ne'er the fruit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet the north insists on living,<br> And what lives will merry be;<br>So, although the grape is wanting,<br> We invent wine cleverly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pale the drink we now are offering<br> On the household altar here;<br>But what living Nature maketh,<br> Sparkling is and ever clear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let us from the brimming goblet,<br> Drain the troubled flood with mirth;<br>Art is but a gift of heaven,<br> Borrowed from the glow of earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even strength's dominions boundless<br> 'Neath her rule obedient lie;<br>From the old the new she fashions<br> With creative energy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She the elements' close union<br> Severs with her sovereign nod;<br>With the flame upon the altar,<br> Emulates the great sun-god.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the distant, happy islands<br> Now the vessel sallies forth,<br>And the southern fruits, all-golden,<br> Pours upon the eager north.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As a type, then,--as an image,<br> Be to us this fiery juice,<br>Of the wonders that frail mortals<br> Can with steadfast will produce!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Friedrich+Schiller">Friedrich Schiller</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=393359" data-title="Punch Song (To be sung in the Northern Countries) de Friedrich Schiller" data-description="On the mountain's breezy summit,
 Where the southern sunbeams shine,
Aided by their warming vigor,
 Nature yields the golden wine.

How the wondrous mother formeth,
 None have ever read aright;
Hid forever is her working,
 And inscrutable her migh..."></div>
</div>
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