Classic Poem

Tell me, O pretty dove, whither art thou flying?
Prithee whither comest, whither dost thou go?
Perfumes in the air are all around thee dying
As on tender wings thou flutterest to and fro.
Tell me, bird, thine errand, for I fain would know it,
Ere thou swiftly speed'st beyond my raptured sight.
“I the envoy am of Anacreon the poet
Sent unto Bathyllus, men's and maids' delight.
Venus to the Teian sold me, from him taking
A little hymn in barter that sweetly breathed her praise;
So the Cyprian court and beauty's queen forsaking,
I carry his love-letters and serve him many ways.
He says, with rosy wine made generous and fervent,
That soon he will discharge me and give me liberty;
But though he should dismiss me I will remain his servant,
For why should I go wandering o'er field and mountain free,
Scant morsels and stray bits of rustic coarse food seeking
When now white bread in plenty from his loved hand I peck?
He freely gives me wine, most kindly to me speaking,
Which having drunk I frolic and nestle in his neck.
Whenever I would slumber I sleep upon his lyre
While he upon its strings a soothing song will play;
Thou know'st all! Begone! For I of talking tire:
You've made me chatter more than even a garrulous jay.”