Classic Poem

Artist of the skillful hand,
Grave me a bowl, and on it show
Floral pomp of gracious spring;
Listen now to my command:
On it let bright roses grow,
Carve me birds upon the wing.
Draw the revel's mirthful whirl,
All the mad wine-kindled swirl.

Tale of horror, cruel rite,
Battle-scene or sacrifice,
Do not there depict for me
Venus, queen of soft delight,
Bacchus reeling tipsy-wise,
On the cup let pictured be.
And beneath a broad-leaved vine
Let Love and Graces twine.

Love shall be without his arms,
Laughing in his naked charms:
And if not there Phoebus play
Red-lipped comely youths portray.