When The Vine Again Is Blowing, Then The Wine Moves In The Cask; When The Rose Again Is Glowing, Wherefore Should I Feel Oppress'D? Down My Cheeks Run Tears All-Burning, If I Do, Or Leave My Task; I But Feel A Speechless Yearning, That Pervades My Inmost Breast. But At Length I See The Reason, When The Question I Would Ask: 'Twas In Such A Beauteous Season, Doris Glowed To Make Me Blest!