By Alcaeus — Imaginary


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!


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


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