Classic Poem

Liber, of all thy friends, thou sweetest care,
Thou worthy in eternal flower to fare,
If thou be'st wise, with Syrian oil let shine
Thy locks, and rosy garlands crown thy head;
Dark thy clear glass with old Falernian wine;
And heat, with softest love, thy softer bed.
He, that but living half his days, dies such,
Makes his life longer than 'twas given him, much.