Anacreontic, To Chloe, Drinking

When , my dear! you resign
One happy hour to mirth and wine,
Each glass you drink still paints your face
With some new victorious grace;
Charms in reserve my soul surprise,
And by fresh wounds your lover dies.
Who can resist thee, lovely fair!
That wit! that soft engaging air!
Each panting heart its homage pays,
And all the vassal world obeys.
God of the grape, boast now no more
Thy triumphs on far Indus' shore;
Each useless weapon now lay down,
Thy tigers, car, and ivy-crown;
Give but this juice in full supplies,
And trust thy fame to Cloe's eyes.
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