Classic Poem

Once lay the Teian singer
On a couch of roses reclining,
Merrily laughing and quaffing,
And on his sweet lyre playing;
Whilst about him the tender
Erotes kept dancing in concert.
One, of Kythera was forging
The darts—those soul-piercing arrows;
Another of argent-hued lilies
And radiant roses had woven
A garland, and therewith encircling
The brows of the old man, caressed him.
Then Sophia, queen of goddesses,
From Olympus beholding Anacreon,
Beholding the graceful Erotes
Spake thus to the bard in reproval:
“Wise one, for the wise call Anacreon
The wisest of mankind, why hast thou
Devoted thy life to Lyæus,
And to the Erotes, why dost thou
Sing ever the kiss of Kythera,
And the mirth-kindling cups of Lyæus,
Not teaching my laws and not winning
My precious gifts as a guerdon?”
And the Teian singer made answer:
“Be not displeased, gracious goddess,
That apart from thee I am regarded
By the wise the wisest of all men.
I love, I drink wine, and the Muses
I court with ardent devotion,
And with fair women I revel
In simple delight, and my heart breathes
Only love like my harp-strings:
Thus above all things prizing
The calm of life, tell me, I pray thee,
Am I not a wise singer,
Who, troth, of mortals is wiser?”