Yon turf, fringing the margent of the stream,
As down upon a cherub’s lip might seem,
Or growth from dust of buried tulip cheeks;
Tread not that turf with scorn, or light esteem!
“Take up thy cup and goblet, Love,” I said,
“Haunt purling river bank, and grassy glade;
Full many a moon-like form has heaven’s wheel
Oft into cup, oft into goblet, made!”
Whinfield
or,
If in the Spring, she whom I love so well
Meet me by some green bank – the truth I tell –
Bringing my thirsty soul a cup of wine,
I want no better Heaven, nor fear a Hell.
O Heart’s Desire!  From cup and flask seek aid;
Be merry midst the river’s flowery glade;
Malicious Heav’n of many joyous folk
A hundred times hath cups and flagons made.
Talbot
or,
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
Fitzgerald
or,
Come, Love, and for the sake of my heart,
Resolve my problem with your beautiful presence.
Bring us a jug of wine, and let’s drink it together
Before so many jugs are fashioned out of our clay.
My boon companions have all been lost,
Falling prey one by one to the angel of death;
All drunk from the same wine in life’s carousal;
They became inebriated one or two rounds earlier.
Karim Emami
"What it might sound like"