Classic Poem

Virgins and men with skilful care
Clusters of purple grapes in baskets bear

Upon their shoulders; being thrown
In the wine-press, they are trodden by men alone.

They chant the joyous vintage hymn,
Seeing the wine foam o'er the wine-vat's brim.

When old age drinks, grown debonair
He joins the dance, and shakes his silver hair.

But the youth amorous and red,
With thrilling thoughts of wine and beauty bred —

Surprising in a secret glade
On a leaf-couch asleep, a tender maid —

With kisses and words that breathe love's fire
He entices her to grant him his desire.

But when no fond entreaties may
Prevail, he forces her, unwilling to betray

Her bridal treasures; 'twas the wine
That sent him courage for his rude design.