Classic Poem

Anakreon is carved upon this rounded stone, reeling with too much wine, a wreath upon his head. The old man's watery eyes stare greedily, and his robe hangs down to his heels. The old tippler has lost one of his boots; the other clings to his crooked foot. He is singing to gay Bathyllos or to Megistes, holding his plaintive lyre in his hands. Guard him well, O God of Wine, for a servant of Bakkhos must not fall by the hand of Bakkhos.