Another Wine-Cup
Fair craftsman, make for me a wine-cup for the Spring — mould the silver for me with Spring bearing the first delicate roses and make for me a delicious draught.
Mould on it nothing foreign, no dismal tale, but rather the son of Zeus, our Bacchus Euios!
Beat out the mystic Cyprian of the stream; make clear the unarmed Loves, the laughing Graces;
And below a lovely-leafed blooming vine with fair grape-clusters add beautiful boys if Phaebus will not play there.
Mould on it nothing foreign, no dismal tale, but rather the son of Zeus, our Bacchus Euios!
Beat out the mystic Cyprian of the stream; make clear the unarmed Loves, the laughing Graces;
And below a lovely-leafed blooming vine with fair grape-clusters add beautiful boys if Phaebus will not play there.
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