Classic Poem

Let us, comrades, cheerily drink wine,
And with choral chant the god divine
Praise who first us mortals taught to dance,
Him who will the joys of love enhance,
And more yielding makes the tender fair:
Him who nerves the youth in love to dare.
Loved of Cypris, sire of tipsy mirth,
'Tis to him the Graces owe their birth:
He brings solace to the eyes that weep,
Through his power is sorrow lulled asleep.
When to us fair youths brimmed beakers bear
Black care flies upon the wind-stirred air.
Let us drink the goblet's rosy freight,
Careless of inevitable fate.
What avails to brood and pine o'er sorrow?
Life is frail, we know not of the morrow.
When the bowl has made elate my mind,
Being perfumed I'm to dance inclined,
And with women fair delight to find.
Let the dull ascetic still despise
Joys that from the vine's shed blood arise.
As for us the genial bowl we'll quaff,
Bacchus praise and revel, dance and laugh.