A Cure for Care
Take thy fill of joyance, dear Soul! for others will follow,
Other men there will be; I shall turn to dark mould!
Drink of the wine from the vines on the slopes of Taygetan mountains
Planted by that old man, Theotimos, dear to the gods,
Bringing the water ice-cold from the plane trees down in the valley.
Drinking driveth away cares that infest the soul.
If thou art well engirt with the harness that comes of the winecup
Then thou surely wilt be joyous of heart to the end!
Other men there will be; I shall turn to dark mould!
Drink of the wine from the vines on the slopes of Taygetan mountains
Planted by that old man, Theotimos, dear to the gods,
Bringing the water ice-cold from the plane trees down in the valley.
Drinking driveth away cares that infest the soul.
If thou art well engirt with the harness that comes of the winecup
Then thou surely wilt be joyous of heart to the end!
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