Classic Poem

The rose, the flower of Cupid,
Let us mix with our wine,
And on our brows have grouped
Rose-chaplets, leaves of vine.

Our temples bound with flowers,
We'll drink with laughter light,
And urge the flying hours,
With faces glowing bright.

The rose of flowers the best is,
Of spring the favourite;
And more than all the rest is
The deities' delight.

The god of shining winglets
His beauty to enhance
With roses decks his ringlets
When Graces with him dance.

Crown me; of wine the pleasures
Upon my lyre I'll sound,
And with fair maidens measures
Dance, merry and rose-crowned.