Classic Poem

“I F BUT the Gods, of their mercy,
Would let me return ere I die,
To drink of the water of Dirce—
On the cool sprinkled margin to lie!

“Yes, I drank of the Marcian waters,
Of Bandusia's song-haunted spring;
But not though Mnemosyne's daughters
The crystal of Helicon bring—

“Not they, not the charm-weaving Circe,
Could make me forget or forego,—
I was used to the water of Dirce,
I long for it, thirst for it so!

“The snows of Cithæron have chilled it—
I shall cease from this fever and pain,
If but the Gods have so willed it
I taste that wild sweetness again!”

Then answered the Gods, of their mercy,
“We give thee thy thirst and thy love,
But seek not the water of Dirce—
For thy Youth was the sweetness thereof.”