Classic Poem

O green-tressed mantling sorrow-swageing vine,
Let thine aspiring tendrils gently twine
Around the mound and pillared stone where lies

Anacreon, first of Bacchic votaries:
So that he whom deep draughts of racy wine
Delighted, and the mirth of revelries,

May all night long in lyric strains profuse
Pour forth the breathings of his melic muse,
To lovers and rouse-loving revellers dear;

And that although his dust lies buried here,
Still, generous vine, thy sweet down-dropping dews
May gratefully his manes soothe and cheer.