Classic Poem

Often, on the mountain height,
When the gay and solemn rite
Of the revels, with their myriad voices,
The immortal Gods rejoices,
Dost thou bring thy pail of gold—
Such a mighty vessel as the shepherds hold—
And with white hands dost thou press
From the full dugs of the lioness
Milk, a noble, noble cheese to make,
Round, unfailing, shining white!