By Alcaeus — Imaginary

1

Wormwood and rue be on his tongue
And ashes on his head,
Who chills the feast and checks the song
With emblems of the dead!

2

By young and jovial, wise and brave,
Such mummers are derided.
His sacred rites shall Bacchus have,
Unspared and undivided.

3

Coucht by my friends, I fear no mask
Impending from above,
I only fear the later flask
That holds me from my love.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.