FILL up, fill up the stirrup-cup!

The wine is running free:

The blue veils of the Spring are out;

She dances on the sea.

In fields of love, in lanes of laughter,

Slacken not the pace:

Care not for Him, who follows after,

And wins at last the race.

Past pear and apple-orchards,

The bramble and the rose,

And out across the swinging turf

To where the sea-wind goes:

To horse! To horse! the time is short;

Soon will the day be done:

We'll gallop on the morning grass,

And drink the rising sun:

And onward through the upland,

To see the plains unfurled,

And armies of the stars go down

Over the brink of the world.