A Drunkard

When it is the will of Bacchus my troubles vanish; I seem to have the wealth of Craesus and I long to sing.
I lie crowned with ivy and in imagination I am lord of all things. Prepare, and I will drink!
Slave, bring me a wine-cup. It is better to lie here drunk than dead.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.