Moods on the Moselle

"Sweet! sweet! sweet!" sings the bird upon the bough.
But though he may call for sweetness
We have other things to witness,
Not all cherry-pie and neatness,
Now.

"Mourn! Mourn! Mourn!" cry the owls among the vines.
But it's neither death nor fleetness
That have any utter fitness,
Not a final joy or sorrow,
As we press out wines.

"Change! Slow change!" ticks the church clock through the snow.
And somehow'twixt winter's dying
And spring apple-blossoms flying
And the summer hops a-tying…
It's now haughty and now humble
Change! Slow change! And rough-and-tumble.
Down to-day and up to-morrow
That our songs sing now.