Number 1

Get up and pour the rose-red wine, the joy that fills us within and without. Make me so drunk on this wine that I can't tell a mountain from a flat plain. Once the wine sets my head spinning, I won't count the turning sky as anything at all. The cup-shaped wheel of heaven drinks my blood; from this cup I'll take that blood right back. Spill a little more onto the ground, let even Korah's greedy mind get drunk, so that, out of sheer joy, he flings up the buried treasure from people's hearts. The wheel of fate throws down the wise, while the sky lifts up the worthless. You too, pour the wine into your cup, then strike up the measured music and dance. Draw the silken string across the harp, warm up that rose-red mount for the ride. So that, to break the army of sorrow, I can launch a night raid on the head of the wine jar.