Classic Poem

Permit me, by the gods, I pray, to-night
In the wine's rosy tide
To sink my sorrows, frantic with delight —
Not like the matricide

Alcmaeon, or Orestes guilty of
A like crime, would I be
Mad, but in harmless dalliance of love
Wine-thrilled join merrily.

No furies me pursue, no one I've slain,
Yet I'll be mad also.
I shake no quiver (war's arts I disdain)
Or Iphitean bow.

Once Ajax frantic wandered brandishing
The seven-fold shield and sword
Of Hector — self-slain his strong soul took wing —
So fell the envious lord.

But bowl in hand, my tresses chaplet-crowned,
With neither sword nor bow
I'll tread the fervent dances' mazy round,
Mad, and with wine aglow.